To Her
Your presence like a benison to meWakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy,I fancy that some old Arabian nightSaw you my houri and my heart’s delight.
And wandering forth beneath the passionate moon,Your love-strung zither and my soul in tune,We knew the joy, the haunting of the painThat like a flame thrills through me now again.
To-night we sit where sweet the spice winds blow,A wind the northland lacks and ne’er shall know,With clasped hands and spirits all aglowAs in Arabia in the long ago.