All the Past

Thou dost unite the beauty of all the past
In thy one perfect face. — Was Helen fair?
Then are thine eyes more wonderful and rare,
And tenderer looks towards my look thou dost cast.
Thou hast the shades of Cleopatra's hair: —
Lo! Egypt rises on my vision fast
And the Nile gleams in lucid Southern air.
Next, Iseult bends before the Cornish blast.

I am as Antony: I mark thy wit
And dream within thy strange eyes passion-lit: —
Sworded as Tristram next I sweep the ways.
I am as Paris: Troy before me burns: —
Then, suddenly, thy supple figure turns,
And lo! thou look'st at me with Helen's gaze.
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