PROLOGUE.
PATCHOULI.
LIKE memories of love they come,
My perfumes in the silver vase:
The fragrant root, the odorous gum,
Myrrh, aloes, or olibanum :—
Anon, like memories of love, they pass!
They pass, and all the wonder-web
Of thought and being is unrolled
Like sombre tides there flow and ebb
Wonderful things! not to be told:
Beautiful things! and images of gold.
The touch of brown Habiba’s breast,
The brimming lip, the cheek of down,
The dainty dovelet in its nest:
These fade, as ever a palimpsest
Like autumn vanishes from gold to brown.
61