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HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean 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
[[v]]
To the glory that was Greece
[[v]]
And the grandeur that was Rome.
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Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand!
[[v]]
The agate lamp within thy hand,
[[v]]
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!
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Notes:
None.
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[S:0 - JHW11, 1911] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - To Helen (ed. J. H. Whitty, 1911)