She claps her hands, and her henchman hurries
West on the sunset sheen:
’Tis he who comes when a mist-wrack scurries,
Skirting the deep ravine;
And my heart is stirred by the loving word
He carries me from my queen.
A drop distilled from a lotos flower—
That is the magic key
To unlock the cage, and my soul has power
To gather itself and flee,
At my love’s behest, where she waits her guest
In a palace beneath the sea.
Joy is ours that is almost anguish:
Pain that is almost sweet:
We kiss; and the ocean creatures languish
Jealously at our feet:
The sight grows dim, and the senses swim
When I and my lady greet.
There to dream, while the soul is swooning
Under a woven spell—
Hushed to sleep by her tender crooning
Learnt from the ocean swell—
There to rest on her jewelled breast,
To love and be loved as well!
