Charles Martin Loeffler — To Helen

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 won't 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 lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy-Land!