The flame is spent, I can no more

Hold the tall candle by your door.

Too often have I watched to see

Your lagging steps come home to me.

The Tyrian traders taught me this.

They came, perfumed with ambergris,

With amethystine robes, and hair

Curled by the kisses of salt air.

They mocked me for my weary hands,

Holding your light as love demands,

They sang the lure of poppied sleep,

Their lips were warm, their eyes were deep.

The flame is spent! Your pale weak face

Must seek another resting place.

Win me, and hold me now who can!

The Tyrian trader was a man!