IN AN OMNIBUS.

By Arthur Symons

YOUR smile is like a treachery,

A treachery adorable;

So smiles the siren where the sea

Sings to the unforgetting shell.

Your fleeting Leonardo face,

Parisian Monna Lisa, dreams

Elusively, but not of streams

Born in a shadow-haunted place.

Of Paris, Paris, is your thought,

Of Paris robes, and when to wear

The latest bonnet you have bought

To match the marvel of your hair.

Yet that fine malice of your smile,

That faint and fluctuating glint

Between your eyelids, does it hint

Alone of matters mercantile?

Close lips that keep the secret in,

Half spoken by the stealthy eyes,

Is there indeed no word to win,

No secret, from the vague replies

Of lips and lids that feign to hide

That which they feign to render up?

Is there, in Tantalus’ dim cup,

The shadow of water, nought beside?