From the high terrace they might see far down,
Egypt asleep, by plague of heat opprest;
Old Father Nile, in beauty manifest,
Roll his rich flood towards many a famous town.
And lo, the Roman felt 'neath mail and gown
(Captain and slave, soothing a child to rest)
Relax and fail on his triumphant breast
That body made for love, by love o'erthrown.

Lifting her silken head and blanched face
To him whose senses reel at such rare grace
And piercing sweetness, she prefers her lips;
But stooping close, his ardent eyes behold
In those deep eyes, sewn thick with points of gold,
A hazardous sea bestrewn with fleeing ships.


_From the French of Jose Maria de Heredia_





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