Edgar Allan Poe — To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me         Like those Nicean barks of yore That gently, o'er a perfum'd 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 lamp within thy hand Ah! Psyche from the regions which         Are Holy Land!