A prey to strange delights,
For among my tresses
Thy soft caresses
Were sweet as a lover's to me.

Later thou grewest more wanton, or I more shy,
And after the bath I drew my garments close,
Fearing thy soft persuasion amongst my hair
When thou camest fresh with the scent of some ruffled rose.

Ah, Wind, thou hast lain with the Desert,
I know her savour well,
And the spices wherewith she scents her breasts--
She who has known such countless lovers
Yet rarely borne a city among her sands--
Thou comest as one from a night of love,
Thy breath is broken and hard,--
Bringing echoes of lonely things,
Vast and cruel, that the soft and golden sands
Buried beneath thin ripples so long ago.
Ah, Wind, thou hast given me lovely things,
The scent of a thousand flowers,
And the heavy perfume of pollen-laden fields,
Strange snatches of wild song from the heart of the dark Bazaar
That thrilled to my very core,
Till I threw the sheet aside and rose to follow,--
But whither, or what?

Also, Wind, thou broughtest the breath of the sea,
The sound of its myriad waves.