Edgar Allan
Poe
1970-01-01 - 1970-01-01
Poe Edgar Allan
To Helen
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
, , To the gloty that 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 land,
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
, , Are Holy Land!
, , 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
, , To the gloty that 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 land,
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
, , Are Holy Land!