IV

Into the trembling air,
Calm on the sunset mist,
Sweetness of gardens where
The yellow slave boy kissed
The Sultan's daughter....

Shadow of tumbled hair
Shadow of hanging vine
Fountains of gold that twine
In singing water.

A secret I have heard
From the scarlet beak of the bird
That sings at the close of day,
Fills me with cold unrest
Under the open doors of the fiery west.

"O heart of clay,
O lips of dust,
O blue-shadowed wisteria vine;
Youth falls away
As petals must
Beneath the drooping leaves in the day's decline."

Paris, 1919