Herbert Asquith

Jewels: A Young Man to a Merchant

OLD Man, your pearls are not for us,
   Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
   Or opals of the moon?
 
I do not ask for other gems;
   Flashing with frost and fire
The sky’s undying diadems
   Shall be my love’s attire.
 
Emeralds, that into rubies melt
   Upon the brow of night,
I’ve taken from Orion’s belt
   To make her girdle bright.
 
On high ways of the albatross
   I scale the purple air
For sapphires of the Southern Cross
   And wreath them in her hair
 
Her robe it is the morning sky,
   Her veil it is the West;
So robed, so veiled my love will fly.
   When I am gone to rest.
 
Yet all the rays of all the moons,
   The lights of all the skies
Are pale beside the dim lagoons
   Of those mysterious eyes.
 
Old Man, your pearls are not for us,
   Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
   Or opals of the moon
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