Because I am idolotrous and have besought
With grievous supplication and consuming prayer,
The admirable image that my love has wrought
Out of her swan's neck and her dark, abundant hair:
The jealous gods who brook no worship save their own,
Turned my live idol marble and her heart to stone.
More verses by Ernest Christopher Dowson
- After Paul Verlaine-I
- To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions
- In Tempore Senectutis
- Nuns Of The Perpetual Adoration
- Autumnal