Desires

What does she dream, lost in her hair’s cascade, The lonely child with flowering hands as wan As garlands pale?—Of the plains of days agone With pools of water lilies, where she strayed On paths of chance her hands with flowers arrayed, And where alms welcomed her?—And never shone As now her eyes her jewels braided on Her gowns of gold and purple and brocade. But she sees nothing round her. In the room Amber and aromatics melt the gloom, The dusk’s hot odour through the window streams; As heavy as an opal’s changing fires, Sigh in the evening mist and die desires, While naked at her glass the maiden dreams.