The Daughter of Cyprus

Dreaming I spake with the Daughter of Cyprus, Heard the languor soft of her voice, the blended Suave accord of tones interfused with laughter Low and desireful;

Dreaming saw her dread ineffable beauty, Saw through texture fine of her clinging tunic Blush the fire of flesh, the rose of her body, Radiant, blinding;

Saw through filmy meshes the melting lovely Flow of line, the exquisite curves, whence piercing Rapture reached with tangible touch to thrill me, Almost to slay me;

Saw the gleaming foot, and the golden sandal Held by straps of Lydian work thrice doubled Over the instep’s arch, and up the rounded Dazzling ankle;

Saw the charms that shimmered from knee to shoulder, Hint of hues, than milk or the snowdrift whiter; Secret grace, the shrine of the soul of passion, Glows that consumed me;

Saw the gathered mass of her xanthic tresses, Mitra-bound, escape from the clasping fillet, Float and shine as clouds in the sunset splendor, Mists in the dawn-fire;

Saw the face immortal, and daring greatly, Raised my eyes to hers of unfathomed azure, Drank their world’s desire, their limitless longing, Swooned and was nothing.