To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to meLike those Nicean barks of yore,That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,The weary, way—worn wanderer boreTo his own native shore.On desperate seas long wont to roam,Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,Thy Naiad airs have brought me homeTo the glory that was Greece,And the grandeur that was Rome.Lo! in yon brilliant window—nicheHow statue—like I see thee stand,The agate lamp within thy hand!Ah, Psyche, from the regions whichAre Holy Land!1831            1845