Dreaming I spake with the Daughter of Cyprus, Heard the languor soft of her voice, the blended Suave accord of tones interfused with laughter Low and desireful; Dreaming saw her dread ineffable beauty, Saw through texture fine of her clinging tunic Blush the fire of flesh, the rose of her body, Radiant, blinding; Saw through filmy meshes the melting lovely Flow of line, the exquisite curves, whence piercing Rapture reached with tangible touch to thrill me, Almost to slay me; Saw the gleaming foot, and the golden sandal Held by straps of Lydian work thrice doubled Over the instep's arch, and up the rounded Dazzling ankle; Saw the charms that shimmered from knee to shoulder, Hint of hues, than milk or the snowdrift whiter; Secret grace, the shrine of the soul of passion, Glows that consumed me; Saw the gathered mass of her xanthic tresses, Mitra-bound, escape from the clasping fillet, Float and shine as clouds in the sunset splendor, Mists in the dawn-fire; Saw the face immortal, and daring greatly, Raised my eyes to hers of unfathomed azure, Drank their world's desire, their limitless longing, Swooned and was nothing. THE DISTAFF Come, ye dainty Graces and lovely Muses, Rosy-armed and pure and with fairest tresses, Come from groves on Helicon's hill where murmur Founts that are holy; Come with dancing step and with lips harmonic, Gather near and view my ivory distaff, Gift from Cos my brother Charaxus brought me, Sailing from Egypt; Sailing back to Lesbos from far Naucratis, From the seven mouths of the Nile and Egypt Up the blue Ægean, the island-dotted Ocean of Hellas; Choicest wool alone will I spin for fabrics, Winding reel with threads for the cloths as fleecy, Soft and fine as they bring from far Phocea, Sidon or Sardis; While I weave my thought shall engird the giver, Whether here, or far on the sea, or resting Couched in shady courts with the lovely garland Girls of Naucratis. THE SLEEP WIND Softer than mists o'er the pale green of waters, O'er the charmed sea, shod with sandals of shadow Comes the warm sleep wind of Argolis, floating Garlands of fragrance; Comes the sweet wind by the still hours attended, Touching tired lids on the shores dim with distance, Ever its way toward the headland of Lesbos, Toward Mitylene. Faintly one fair star of evening enkindles On the dusk afar its lone fire Œtean, Shining serene till the darkness will deepen Others to splendor;