Thy beauty is the warmth and languor and passion of a tropic autumn,

Caressing all the senses,—

With light from skies of heavy azure,

With perfume from hidden orchids many-hued

That burn in the berylline dusk of palms;

With the balmy kiss of tropic wind and wave,

And the songs of exotic birds that pass

In vermilion-flashing flight from isle to isle on a cobalt sea.***

O, sweetness in the inmost sense,

As of golden fruits that have grown by the waters of Lethe,

Or fragrance of purple lilies, crushed by the limbs of lovers,

In the shadow of a wood of cypress!***

Thou pervadest me with thy love,

As the dawn pervadeth a valley among mountains,

Or as opaline sunset filleth the amaranth-coloured sea;

The desire of thy heart is upon me,

As a myrtle-scented wind from the isle of Cythera,

Where Aphrodite waits for Adonis,

Lying naked among the flag lilies by a pool of chrysolite;

I inhale thy love

As the breath of hidden gardens of purple and scarlet,

Where Circe wanders,

Clad in a trailing gown whose colours are the gold of flame,

And the azure of the skies of autumn.