nissou

To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore,

That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,

The weary, way-worn wandered bore

To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair; thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home

To the glory that was Greece

And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! In yon brilliant window-niche,

How statue-like I see thee stand,

The agate lamp within thy hand!

Ah, Psyche, from the regions which

Are Holy Land!

Allan Edgar Poe