Here you will find the Poem Cleopatra. of poet Robert Crawford
The asp, her baby, on her breast, She falls asleep, Ever, like Antony, to rest While Nile shall keep Its course, and Egypt be a name Whose utterance stirs The shadow on the Roman's fame, His love and hers. Out of the mire and mirth of Time, By thought removed, The life that might have shone sublime, Nor unbeloved ? A doting mallard when her sail From Actium flew, He knew her love was, passion-pale, The sword that slew! Ah! even though her love was lust, The swarthy Queen, When her babe gave the mortal thrust, A woman's mien Wore, as her Circean eyes their last Looked on the slave And with her fatal witchery passed Into the grave. She yet shall stand in Beauty's list A thing superb, The Roman's light in Egypt's mist ? A lover's verb That through his moods and tenses toned A royal way, And took Death rather than be loaned To Caesar's sway.
