I open the window and seem almost--
So still lies the ocean--to hear the beat
Of its great Gulf Artery off the coast,
And to bask in its tropic heat.

In my neighbor's windows the gas lights flare
As the dancers swing in a waltz from Strauss;
And I wonder now could I fit that air
To the song of this sad old house.

And no odor of mignonette there is,
But the breath of morn on the dewy lawn;
And maybe from causes as slight as this
The quaint old legend was born.

But the soul of that subtle sad perfume,
As the spiced embalmings, they say, outlast
The mummy laid in his rocky tomb,
Awakens my buried past.

And I think of the passion that shook my youth,
Of its aimless loves and its idle pains,
And am thankful now for the certain truth
That only the sweet remains.

And I hear no rustle of stiff brocade,
And I see no face at my library door;
For now that the ghosts of my heart are laid,
She is viewless forevermore.