The Cydnus

Beneath triumphal blue, in flaming ray,
The silver trireme tints the dark flood white,
And censers breathe rich perfumes that unite
With rustling silks and flutes' mellifluous play.

Where, at the prow, the spread-hawk holds his way,
Cleopatra forward leans for better sight,
And seems, as stands she in the evening light,
Like some great golden bird in watch for prey.

Now Tarsus sees the warrior captive there:
The dusky Lagian opes, in that charmed air,
Her amber arms with roseate purple dyed;

Nor has she seen anear, as fateful sign,
Shredding the roses on the sombrous tide,
Those twins, Desire and Death, of life divine.