Chapter XLIV

To-night a magic sail, Love, is your hair
That wafts o’er waters that know not the sun,
Where stars come not, nor bright the dawn lights run,
And black a basalt palace towers there.
There mingle all night long upon the air
The murmurings of Love’s oblivion,
With songs of many waters, one by one
Flung o’er stone dream of arches black and bare.

Voluptuously listening here I lie
Learning the languors of that unseen sea,
Its rich accords, its magic, mystery.
The night grows deep within your eyes—my sky.
There wild stars rise. Soon, soon our love will be
Swelling the black night palace harmony.