The Lost Country

Fall 2012 • Vol. 1, No. 1

issn 2326-5310 (online)

Subridet sub rosa

By Tyler Morrison

This work was published in the Fall 2012 issue of The Lost Country. You may purchase a copy of this issue from us or, if you prefer, from Amazon.

Per grazia fa noi grazia che disvele
A lui la bocca tua, sì che discerna
La seconda bellezza che tu cele.

Her lips are fixed with permanence
In a pensive non-expression,
Simply curved and pinkish plain.
She buries here her prized possession,
A secret smile that Horus keeps,
The hidden cove, a lover’s trove
Untouched by the searching, yearning glance
Of strangers who would a god profane.

If verses could but part the petals,
What winsome wealth of mirth would show;
How lily-white the sudden flash
That breaks beneath the opened rose!

Look here, my lady! I call to thee.
Oh, end thy silence! Laugh for me.

But I have not a Dante’s power
To peel away Harpocrates.
Unless the young god’s unseen finger
Be lifted by a flimsy rhyme,
Then her mouth shall stay a virgin flower,
And I before this moonlit balcony
Will pine lightheaded and wait her favor,
Writing odes to buy love time.