Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/33



Far away, on an island of the sea, lives a woman in a palace of gold. Chains of gold are about her waist, and upon her arms rings of gold and rubies and stones of beryl. All alone she lives, resting by night upon a couch of purple and by day upon a throne of ivory.

They say no one has ever known the warm desire of her lips nor, with a trembling hand, caressed the pliant splendor of her limbs. Strange tales are whispered—she is very fair But once each month when the world is hushed and the round moon gleams high in the heavens, she stands on the terrace of her dwelling. Alone in the moonlight, like a silvery image, she slips from her veils and loosing her hair from its glittering mesh, lets it float like a deep shadow into the night The warm wind of the south caresses it with a thousand furtive hands and, stealing between the wavering strands, sweeps on, laden with a singular perfume.

Then love starts from its troubled slumber and in the dim temples of Astarté the flowers upon the altars bloom afresh.