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THE OCTOPUS

By ALGERNON SINBURN

Strange beauty, eight-limbed and eight-handed,

Whence camest to dazzle our eyes,

With thy bosom bespangled and banded,

With the hues of the seas and the skies?

Is thy name European or Asian,

Oh mystical monster marine,

Part molluscous and partly crustacean,

Betwixt and between?

Wast thou born to the sound of sea-trumpets?

Hast thou eaten and drunk to excess

Of the sponges—thy muffins and crumpets—

Of the sea-weed—thy mustard and cress?

Wast thou nurtured in caverns of coral,

Remote from reproof or restraint?

Art thou innocent, art thou immoral,

Sinburnian or Saint?

Lithe limbs curling free as a creeper,

That creeps in a desolate place,

To enrol and envelop the sleeper

In a silent and stealthy embrace;

Cruel beak craning forward to bite us,

Our juices to drain and to drink,

Or to whelm as in waves of Cocytus,

Indelible ink!

Oh, breast that ’twere rapture to writhe on!

Oh, arms ’twere delicious to feel

Clinging close with the crush of the Python,

When she maketh her murderous meal!