WHAT gift for passionate lovers shall we find? Not flowers nor books of verse suffice for me, Nor splinters of the odorous cedar-tree, And tufts of pine-buds, oozy in the wind; Give me young shoots of aromatic rind, Or samphire, redolent of sand and sea, For all such fragrances I deem to be Fit with my sharp desire to be combined. My heart is like a poet, whose one room, Scented with Latakia faint and fine, Dried rose-leaves, and split attar, and old wine, From curtained windows gathers its warm gloom Round all but one sweet picture where incline His thoughts and fancies mingled with perfume. |