Saida
Oh, loved for other charms than those
That mold thy faultless face;
Oh, fairer than the mystic rose,
That o'er thy bosom plays!
Sweet maid, whose soul in beauty breaks,
As amber light the water wakes.
Not mine the joy that others know,
Who drink thy loveliness,
Or wrapt in music, languid grow
Beneath thy song's caress;
Not mine through every vein to feel
The trembling flame of passion steal;
Yet, Saida, who of all the throng,
That whisper thee divine,
Would dare so much thy spirit wrong,
As match his love with mine,
Who know no other heaven than thee,
Yet never hope that heaven to see?
Perforce with sorrow's subtle art
Each cloistering feeling pure,
Each hidden thought that moves thy heart,
Within my night I lure,
Until, through mist of blinding tears,
Thy sacred self of self appears.
Oh, airy step, as burdensome
As morning's budding beam
To hopeless haunter of the tomb,
Again into my dream,
Enchanted vision, creep again,
And look in sorrow on my pain.
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