Leilah

From the French of Leconte de Lisle

Sound of wingbeat, murmur of running springs,

have fled

the air. The sun, a cinder, swims across the gay

grass, and with his thief's beak the furtive bengalee

drinks the rich juice of mangoes colored as if they bled

gold. In the king's close, where mulberries ripen red,

under bare sky, from which all color has drained away,

shuts deep lashed eyes. Branch shade is dark about her

head.

Her jeweled forehead leans on one delightful arm.

The amber of her bare foot colors soft and warm

the pearled film of her tiny shoe. She dreams apart

and smiles upon her dreaming of how lovers meet,

like some fruit grown deep colored, passionate and

sweet,

that makes the mouth's desire a lightness in the heart.