There are pearls from the purple waters that laugh at the noonday sun,

With corals that cost a kingdom and the life of the daring one.

And the sough of a slumberous sleep-wind and the sigh of a sobbing wave,

All mingled within those tresses the gods in their frenzy gave.

There's the hum of the busy city, the buzz of the whirling wheel,

Then the song of a prayer to heaven, with a fervor that angels feel.

And there's glitter and clash of armor, and the cries and groans of men,

Then the snow, with a tinge of life-blood, that covers the mountain fen.

There's the scurry of hastening footsteps, the gleam of a murderer's knife,

The anguish of aimless passion, the despair of a ruined life.

And these heavy tresses and ringlets that cluster over your neck

Are pitfalls for priest and people, yet little you care or reck;

For artless they writhe o'er your bosom and fall o'er your little hand,

And circle in endless circles my heart like an iron band.

Z.