The Last Pharoah
December 6, 2011
Eternity was in our lips and yes,
Bliss in our brows bent.
The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water; the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggared all description.
Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon ‘t, that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air.
Antony and Cleopatra