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We see the Patriarch's wintry face, The maid of Egypt's dusky glow, And dream that Youth and Age embrace, As April violets fill with snow. Tranced in her Lord's Olympian smile His lotus-loving Memphian lies, The musky daughter of the Nile With plaited hair and almond eyes.
Tranced in her Lord's Olympian smile His lotus-loving Memphian lies, The musky daughter of the Nile With plaited hair and almond eyes. Might we but share one wild caress Ere life's autumnal blossoms fall, And Earth's brown, clinging lips impress The long cold kiss that waits us all!
So I swung into the deep seat of the stolen saddle, and lightly touched the lotus-loving Memphian with both spurs. First, a reeling, dancing, uncertain panorama of buildings, fences, and spectators; then a mechanical response to the surging, jerking, concussive saddle, and a guarded strain on the dragging reins.
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