By subtle Moorish scents my face is fanned—
O! dance for me again the Saraband!
XLVII
Couleur tabac d’Espagne—your eyes are, Love,
Clearly and sweetly brown, with sun shone through
At mid-day when of merry mood are you—
Mirth’s mirrors, such as brooklets to the dove.
Couleur topaz d’Espagne—my tawny Love—
Topazes filled with diamond’s eyes of you
When shadows lengthen and soft falls the dew—