« PreviousContinue »
TO M. L. S.
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicéan barks of yore
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand ! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are holy land!
Bell & Bain, Printers, Glasgow.