82 WITH HERBS AND FLOWERS 



Wert thou not once a beauty 



In Persia or Japan, 

 For whom, by toiling seaway 



Or dusty caravan, 



Of old some lordly lover 



Brought countless treasure home 



Of gems and silk and attar, 

 To pleasure thee therefrom ? 



Pale amber from the Baltic, 

 Soft rugs of Indian ply, 



Stuffs from the looms of Bagdad 

 Stained with the Tyrian dye. 



Were thy hands bright with henna, 

 Thy lashes black with kohl, 



Thy voice like silver water 

 Out of an earthen bowl ? 



Or was thy only tent-cloth 

 The blue Astartean night, 



Thy soul to beauty given, 

 Thy body to delight ? 



Wert thou not well desired, 

 And was not life a boon, 



When Tanis held in Sidon 

 Her Mysteries of the Moon ? 



There in her groves of ilex 

 The nightingales made ring 



With the mad lyric chorus 



Of youth and love and Spring, 



