From the deep mystery of the past I called her,
where she is a shadow among shadows,
a vestige among vestiges, a phantom
among phantoms.
And she came to my call,
scattering peoples, spurning centuries.

Dismayed, the laws of time surrounded her;
the spirit of the grave, with dismal clamour,
cried to her: Bide! With invisible clutch
the epochs seized her faded furbelow.

But all in vain! Her red tresses streaming,
red tresses redolent of eternity,
that alien queen, in raiment of chimera,
came hastening to the beck of my desire.

When she was by me I bespoke her thus:
What of thy promise of the year a thousand?
—Mark I am mere shadow.—I know.—Was mad.
—What of thy promised kiss?—Death froze it.—Queens
forswear not! . . .
And she kissed me on the mouth.