Time hangs suspended 'mid the perfumed dusk,
With limpid wings, o'er which the first pale star
Gleams like a tear, within the tender, far
Desirous eyes of love-lorn Destiny.
The earth is dumb, the scents of many flowers
Flow out from petalled lips upon her breast,
In one unending sigh of happy rest.
The halting pageant of the passing hours
Unfurls its misty pennants to the sea.
The Nightingale has swooned for ecstasy,
And hides away amid the vine-clad bowers
Upon the terrace; Oh! impassioned dusk!
Speechless with longing, throbbing with delight
To fling thy beauty in the arms of night,
Thy rare, dim beauty sweet with breath of musk,
Thou shalt not know thy joy nor him requite
With tender ardour, ere there comes to me
Adown thy paths from out eternity,
My soul's twin soul, mine embodied bliss,
Torn from the countless ages by a kiss.
