Atthan Dances

By George Sterling

From "Lilith"

The silver of the lyre
    Cries, and thy silver feet
    Like living flowers repeat
Thy body's silver fire.

What scents without a name
    Within thy tresses hide?
    What perfect roses died
To give thy mouth its flame?

Thy hands, uplifting, float
    More delicate than Love's.
    Thy breasts are two white doves
Whose moan is in thy throat.

As lyre and cithern swoon.
    Thou lingerest, in thy pace
    The panther's gift of grace.
Who glides below the moon.

O linger where I sigh
    Above the golden wine.
    And touch thy mouth to mine—
A scarlet butterfly.

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