Abishag

I

She lay, and serving-men her lithe arms took,

And bound them round the withering old man,

And on him through the long sweet hours she lay,

And little fearful of his many years.

And many times she turned amidst his beard

Her face, as often as the night-owl screeched,

And all that was the night around them reached

Its feelers manifold of longing fears.

As they had  been the sisters of the child

The stars trembled, and fragrance searched the room,

The curtain stirring sounded with a sign

Which drew her gentle glances after it.

But she clung close upon the dim old man,

And, by the night of nights not over-taken,

Upon  the cooling of the King she lay

Maidenly, and lightly as a soul.

II

The King sate thinking out the empty day

Of deeds accomplished and untasted joys,

And of his favorite bitch that he had bredC

But with the evening Abishag was arched

Above him.  His disheveled life lay bare,

Abandoned as diffamed coasts, beneath

The quiet constellation of her breasts.

But many times, as one in women skilled,

he through his eyebrows recognized the mouth

Unmoved, unkissed; and saw: the comet green

Of her desired reached not to where he lay.

He shivered.  And he listened like a hound,

And sought himself in his remaining blood.