I have waited, blissful tended
Thee for thirty years and more.
In thy wild, illusive madness;
In thy blight, disease and sadness,
I have sounded, tapping, tapping
At thy spirit’s Eden door,
Not a bird, but angel more.
In my Palmyrenian splendor,
In Zenobian regnance tender,
More than Roman thought Aurelian,