Her stature waves, as if a flower 
Forgot the evening breeze, 
But heard the charioted hour 
Sweep from the farther seas, 
And kept sweet time within her bower, 
And hushed mild melodies. 
 
 
So grave and delicate and tall— 
Shall laughter never sweep 
Like a moss-guarded waterfall 
Across her ivory sleep ? 
A tender laugh most musical ? 
A sigh serenely deep ? 
 
 
She laughs in wordless swift desire 
A soft Thalassian tune ; 
Her eyelids glimmer with the fire 
That animates the moon ; 
Her chaste lips flame, as flames aspire 
Of poppies in mid-June. 
 
 
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