what's o'clock
115
With something of grave terror. Neron felt
An instant loathing, tingled with shrewd fear;
And yet, although he shuddered, a sly spark
Of admiration twinged him like a pain.
This was a terrible and virile king.
But for the queen—old Neron gasped before
Her sudden loveliness. A slender plant
Swung in a wind, crowned by a pyramid
Of fragile, jostling bells, was not more like
Itself than she to it. Her eyes were kind,
But wise withal, and hooded with fatigue.
She drooped in standing, yet remained upright
Wistfully conscious of an effort so.
Her pleated robe of green, or blue, or green,
Pushed out or hollowed as her body pressed
Upon it or withdrew within its folds;
She stood as naked to old Neron's eyes
As though no robe were there. Her small white hands
Held a red fox-glove, charming in its poise;
An instant loathing, tingled with shrewd fear;
And yet, although he shuddered, a sly spark
Of admiration twinged him like a pain.
This was a terrible and virile king.
But for the queen—old Neron gasped before
Her sudden loveliness. A slender plant
Swung in a wind, crowned by a pyramid
Of fragile, jostling bells, was not more like
Itself than she to it. Her eyes were kind,
But wise withal, and hooded with fatigue.
She drooped in standing, yet remained upright
Wistfully conscious of an effort so.
Her pleated robe of green, or blue, or green,
Pushed out or hollowed as her body pressed
Upon it or withdrew within its folds;
She stood as naked to old Neron's eyes
As though no robe were there. Her small white hands
Held a red fox-glove, charming in its poise;
