That reflection to her eyes seemed to grow,
More shapeless and loveless at every blow.
At a senseless and deathless thing he wrought,
A cenotaph of his wondrous thought.
O love, my love, one who never wilt know
That I, thy lover, have loved thee like so!
I would lie death-doomed at thy sacred feet
To hear thee say but, I love thee, my Sweet.
Oh then struck the delight of sweet surprise,
Which glowed in the depths of her tender eyes.
And then something fairer than laughter lit
Her face with a smile most exquisite.
So suddenly, with one great, gasping strain,
Narcissus had regained his calm again.
And, when he laid down his stained hands that night,
His eyes fluttered still and his cheek was white.
— so that earth quick with gleaming diamond’s soul
in its throes oft bears naught but formless coal.
Vincent Chang is a Year 10 student from Australia. When he isn’t preparing for a debate or rehearsing at choir, you can find him reading and writing about literature and the arts, history and linguistics, theater and poetry. He is especially interested in narrative: because a story isn’t about “what happens,” but about how what happens transforms the characters.
