Lotus-Flower

Oh , cold and blue upon an ancient stream,
Your beauty is a deathless lotus-flower,
Shaped like a star, and coloured like the hour
Of desert twilight, when the shadows seem
To dim the Sphinx; strange and eternal gleam
The eyes that draw my soul with sombre power,
Back into tombs where haunting memories cower,
And life is as an echo and a dream.

Dear ghost of Egypt, lift your face again —
Illumined faintly as by distant fire, —
Perchance these hands have scourged a thousand slaves!
Did I, too, shudder at your chill disdain?
Or were we twin-born with a king for sire,
And has our love outlived a thousand graves?
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