Time hangs suspended 'mid the perfumed dusk,

With limpid wings, o'er which the first pale star

Gleams like a tear, within the tender, far

Desirous eyes of love-lorn Destiny.

The earth is dumb, the scents of many flowers

Flow out from petalled lips upon her breast,

In one unending sigh of happy rest.

The halting pageant of the passing hours

Unfurls its misty pennants to the sea.

The Nightingale has swooned for ecstasy,

And hides away amid the vine-clad bowers

Upon the terrace; Oh! impassioned dusk!

Speechless with longing, throbbing with delight

To fling thy beauty in the arms of night,

Thy rare, dim beauty sweet with breath of musk,

Thou shalt not know thy joy nor him requite

With tender ardour, ere there comes to me

Adown thy paths from out eternity,

My soul's twin soul, mine embodied bliss,

Torn from the countless ages by a kiss.