Ariadne

To brazen cymbals' clear and clanging strain,
The Queen in nudeness on the tiger's back
Views, with the revels that illume his track,
Iacchus coming o'er the strand amain.

The royal monster treads the sandy plain,
To her sweet weight submitting, when, alack,
Touched by her hand wherefrom the rein falls slack,
He bites his bridle's flowers in passion's pain.

Letting the amber clusters of her hair
Roll to his flank amid the dusk grapes there,
His rumbling roar by her is heeded not.

In sooth, her mouth, steeped in ambrosial bliss,
Its cries to faithless lover now forgot,
Thirsts for the Asian Tamer's nearing kiss.