Page:The Yellow Book - 13.djvu/63



From the Portuguese of Anthero de Quental

By Richard Garnett, C.B., LL.D.

thistle's azure flower my home I hung, And did with redolence of musk perfume,
 * And, robed in purple raiment's glowing gloom,

Low prelude to my coming carol sung. Spikenard, from Orient groves transported, clung
 * To brow and hand; if so my humble room
 * Might undishonoured harbour her, for whom

Soon should its welcoming door be widely flung. What princess, fairy, angel from above,
 * Some radiant sphere relinquishing for me,
 * Bowed to my habitation poor and cold?

Princess nor sprite nor fay, but memory
 * Of thee it was that came to knock where Love
 * Expecting sat behind a gate of gold.

Rh