ATTAR

The dark rose of your mouth
Is summer and the south to me;
The attar of desire and dream
Its tendernesses seem to me.

The clear deep of your eyes

A lure of wonder lies to me,
Whereto my longing soul descends
While love comes by and bends to me.

The hushed night of your hair
Breathes an enchanted air to me—

Strange heats from many a mystic clime
And far-off, perished time to me.

The pulses of your throat,
What madness they denote to me,—
Passion, and hunger, and despair,

And ecstasy, and prayer to me!

The dusk bloom of your flesh
Is as a magic mesh to me,
Wherein our spirits lie ensnared,
Your wild, wild beauty bared to me.