Classic Poem

Silently gazing from the tower, apart,
The Queen, whose night-black hair is bound with braid,
Feels, in the trance of censers slowly swayed,
Your sea, O immense Love, mount in her heart.

Her eyelids close on dreams, and she is laid
Among her cushions, swooning as she rests;
The heavy gold chains lifted by her breasts
Tell the mute, fevered longing of the maid.

Over the monuments float strange farewells;
The evening, soft with shade, is full of spells;
And, while the crocodiles far distant weep,

The Queen, hands clenched and sobbing to have sinned,
Shudders to feel lascivious fingers creep
Among her hair and spend it to the wind.