La Belle Juive
Is it because your sable hairIs folded over brows that wearAt times a too imperial air;
Or is it that the thoughts which riseIn those dark orbs do seek disguiseBeneath the lids of Eastern eyes;
That choose whatever pose or placeMay chance to please, in you I traceThe noblest woman of your race?
The crowd is sauntering at its ease,And humming like a hive of bees—You take your seat and touch the keys:
I do not hear the giddy throng;The sea avenges Israel’s wrong,And on the wind floats Miriam’s song!
You join me with a stately grace;Music to Poesy gives place;Some grand emotion lights your face:
At once I stand by Mizpeh’s walls:With smiles the martyred daughter falls,And desolate are Mizpeh’s halls!
Intrusive babblers come between;With calm, pale brow and lofty mien,You thread the circle like a queen!
Then sweeps the royal Esther by;The deep devotion in her eyeIs looking “If I die, I die!”
You stroll the garden’s flowery walks;The plants to me are grainless stalks,And Ruth to old Naomi talks.
Adopted child of Judah’s creed,Like Judah’s daughters, true at need,I see you mid the alien seed.
I watch afar the gleaner sweet;I wake like Boaz in the wheat,And find you lying at my feet!
My feet! Oh! if the spell that luresMy heart through all these dreams endures,How soon shall I be stretched at yours!