IN THE GOLD ROOM

Her ivory hands on the ivory keys

   Strayed in a fitful fantasy,

Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees

   Rustle their pale-leaves listlessly,

Or the drifting foam of a restless sea

When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.

Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold

   Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun

On the burnished disk of the marigold,

   Or the sunflower turning to meet the sun

   When the gloom of the dark blue night is done,

And the spear of the lily is aureoled.

And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine

   Burned like the ruby fire set

In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,

   Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,

   Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet

With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.