There wild stars rise. Soon, soon our love will be
Swelling the black night palace harmony.
XLV
Your hair I love despite its selfish hue
Made up of treasured sun-gold held in fee,
Not one reflected ray has been set free,
Therefore it is so brightly black to view.
Ages of eastern passion made this hue
Dark as its deepest midnights ere can be,
Splendid as noons the skies strike blanchingly,