BETWEEN the amber portals of the sea The gilded fleece of heat hangs on my tree; My skin is bright as this . . . Come, wind, and smooth my skin, bright as your kiss! Less bright, less bright than Fatima's gold skin, My gilded fleece that sighs 'She is the glittering dew born of the heat, She is that young gazelle, the leaping Sun of Paradise.' Come, Nubian shade, smooth the gilt fleece's curl, Until your long dark fluid hands unfold My peach, that cloud of gold, Its kernel, crackling amber water-cold. Shine, Fatima, my Sun, show your gold face Through panached ostrich plumes of leaves, then from above My ripening fruits will feel the bright dew fall apace, Till at your feet I pour my golden love. |