From the "Hundred Love Songs"
O love, thy hair! thy locks of night and musk!
The very wind therein doth lose his way,
While in the perfumed darkness he would stray;
And my heart, too, is lost in scented dusk.
Thy crescent brows irradiate the night;
Love, of thy lips and tresses give thou me—
Thy breast is like a restless, heaving sea;
Thine eyes are stars of sorrow and delight.
Yet grieve not that I grieve, Soul of the Sea—
What is my heart that thou shouldst comfort it
With wine or song, with smile or dance or wit?
Dust of thy threshold is enough for me.
Fast bound am I, as are thy tresses long,
And bent am I, as bend thy brows so fair.
Low to the earth I fall, as falls thy hair,
And clasp thy feet, as thy small sandals' thong.
Who once hath loved thy pale and fervent face,
To him the rose is dead and cold the flame,
Deaf to all music save thy voice and name,
Blind to all beauty save thy subtle grace.
The very wind therein doth lose his way,
While in the perfumed darkness he would stray;
And my heart, too, is lost in scented dusk.
Thy crescent brows irradiate the night;
Love, of thy lips and tresses give thou me—
Thy breast is like a restless, heaving sea;
Thine eyes are stars of sorrow and delight.
Yet grieve not that I grieve, Soul of the Sea—
What is my heart that thou shouldst comfort it
With wine or song, with smile or dance or wit?
Dust of thy threshold is enough for me.
Fast bound am I, as are thy tresses long,
And bent am I, as bend thy brows so fair.
Low to the earth I fall, as falls thy hair,
And clasp thy feet, as thy small sandals' thong.
Who once hath loved thy pale and fervent face,
To him the rose is dead and cold the flame,
Deaf to all music save thy voice and name,
Blind to all beauty save thy subtle grace.
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