THOUGH I am native to this frozen zone That half the twelvemonth torpid lies, or dead; Though the cold azure arching overhead And the Atlantic's never-ending moan Are mine by heritage, I must have known Life otherwhere in epochs long since fled; For in my veins some Orient blood is red, And through my thought are lotus blossoms blown. I do remember ... it was just at dusk, Near a walled garden at the river's turn (A thousand summers seem but yesterday!), A Nubian girl, more sweet than Khoorja musk, Came to the water-tank to fill her urn, And, with the urn, she bore my heart away! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON TAGORE by MARIANNE MOORE THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT by ANNE BRADSTREET UPON JULIA'S BREASTS by ROBERT HERRICK LONE DOG by IRENE RUTHERFORD MCLEOD MY MOTHER'S BIBLE by GEORGE POPE MORRIS THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY [1621] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON |