Her hair was twined with vine leaves thro' the gold,
The leopard skin about her shoulders flung
Showed gleams of her as marble--fair and cold;
I breathed not--listening to the song she sung.
Hither and thither thro' the solemn world,
Glory of purple, passionate blazing red
Glints thro' the gloom, and thro' the grey is swirled--
Ah! but the leaves twined sweet about her head.
"Heedless--men pass me in their search for life,
Hunting for altars to their souls' fine fires,
Crying the sun or joy of toil and strife
And know not that 'tis I--their heart desires.
They dream not that the sheen on peacock's breast,
The haze and perfume of a Summer's day,
The silver stealing o'er the twilight West
Are joys more rich than all the world's display."