Where lotus-scented waters glide,
A Theban Priestess, dusky-eyed,
Barefooted on the golden sands;

Or, prostrate, in the Temple-halls,
When Spirits wake, and mortals sleep,
She hears what mighty Voices sweep
Like winds along the columned walls.

A Princess then beneath the palms
Which wave o'er Afric's burning plains,
The blood of Afric in thy veins,
A golden circlet on thine arms.

By sacred Ganges' sultry tide,
With dreamy gaze and clasped hands
Thou walkst a Seeress in the lands
Where holy Buddha lived and died.

Anon, a sea-bleached mountain cave
Makes shelter for thee, grave and wan,
Thou solemn, solitary Man,
Who, nightly, by the star-lit wave

Invokest with illumined eyes
The steadfast Lords who rule and wait
Beyond the heavens and Time and fate,
Until the perfect Dawn shall rise,

And oracles, through ages dumb,