To Helen ("Helen, thy beauty is to me...")

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 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!