Luxurious your softest languor comes,
Faintly torn wings shall flutter for the sun,
Madly old dreams shall struggle toward the light,
And, drugged with opiate passion, you shall know
Dark days and shadowy moods when she may seem
To some dusk underworld enchaining you.
Yet I shall know her as she was of old,
Fashioned of moonlight and Aegean foam;
Some visionary gleam, some glory strange
Shall day by day engolden her lost face.