A MOUTH more strange than Mona Lisa's is.
Deep eyes where dreams an infinite despair
In the blue shadow of mysterious hair
That crowned the temples of Semiramis!
Thine is the smile that murders with a kiss
Of her whose body was a perfect prayer
To Ashtoreth, and all the mysteries
Of all the queens of all the East are there.

This age of brass has sealed thy soul with fears,
And prudence blights thy poppies like a pall:
Perchance thy words might move the world to tears,
And thy great secret save or sear us all:
But round about thee—an enchanted wall—
The silence hovers of a-thousand years.