Iii

The music now that lays Dim lips against my ears, Some far-off thing it says,-- Unto my soul,--of years Long passed into the haze Of tears.

Meseems before me are The dark eyes of a queen, A queen of Istakhar: I seem to see her lean More lovely than a star Of mien.

A slave, I stand before Her jeweled throne; I kneel, And, in a song, once more My love for her reveal; How once I did adore I feel.

Again her dark eyes gleam; Again her red lips smile; And in her face the beam Of love that knows no guile; And so she seems to dream A while.

Out of her deep hair then A rose she takes--and I Am made a god 'mid men! Her rose, that here did lie When I, in th' wild-beasts' den, Did die.