HELEN, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicéan barks of yore,

That gently o'er a perfumed sea

The weary, way-worn wanderer bore

To his own native shore.

 

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home

To the glory that was Greece,

And the grandeur that was Rome.

 

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche,

How statue-like I see thee stand,

The agate book within thy hand;

Ah! Psyche, from the regions which

Are Holy-Land!