III
They say: “When April trod
By in a blowing blush,—
Wise as a word of God
Holding all Heaven a-hush,—
Singing a song of love,
We, as she passed above,
Sprang from the notes thereof,
Filling with joy each grove,
Beauty and mystery.”
ORIENTAL ROMANCE
I
Beyond lost seas of summer she
Dwelt on an island of the sea,
Last scion of that dynasty,
Queen of a race forgotten long,—
With eyes of light and lips of song,
From seaward groves of blowing lemon,
She called me in her native tongue,
Low-leaned on some rich robe of Yemen.
II
I was a king. Three moons we drove
Across green gulfs, the crimson clove
And cassia spiced, to claim her love.
Packed was my barque with gums and gold;
Rich fabrics; sandalwood, grown old
With odor; gems; and pearls of Oman,—
Than her white breasts less white and cold;—
And myrrh, less fragrant than this woman.
III
From Bassora I came. We saw
Her condor castle on a claw
Of soaring precipice, o’erawe
The surge and thunder of the spray:
Like some great opal, far away
It shone, with battlement and spire,
Wherefrom, with wild aroma, day
Blew splintered lights of sapphirine fire.