ORIENT-BORN.
Beautiful olive-brown brows, chin where the fairy-print lies;
Vagrant dark tresses above splendid mysterious eyes;
Mellowest fires that glow under the calm of her face,
Girl of all girls in the world for mould and for color and grace.
Such are the opal-like maids that flash in the groves to and fro,
Dancers Arabian; such, languorous ages ago,
Ptolemy’s daughter; and so, breathing faint cassia and musk,
Veilèd young Moors on divans, singing and sighing at dusk.
Never in opiate dreams have I o’ertaken you, sweet;
Never with henna-tipped hands; never with silken-shod feet;
Still the love-charm of the East must over and over be told:
By-and-by havoc with hearts!... Ah, slowly, my seven-year-old!