One rapid gesture of a supple arm
Has made your beauty strange and fabulous:
Mystery folds you and reveals you, thus
Weaving anew the seven-circled charm.
Love needs no stranger dream: your face calls back
The feet that flying Lemures have drawn
To years beyond the darkness and the dawn;
And thrusts afar the impending Zodiac.
He that has been the pilgrim of dark shrines,
And sued the silver wraith of Baaltis,
Would ask no wonder more arcane than this:—
To watch, in a place of summer grass and pines,
The spangled spectrum somnolently spun
In your deep hair by the seaward-turning sun.