The Tour by Louis Couperus

"Mother of Eros, hear thy slave! "Child of the foam, great goddess of love, Aphrodite, look down from above! Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire, Thou, who fulfillest men's hearts with thy fire, All but the heart of my lord that I crave, Hark to thy slave! "Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him, Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him, Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them, The hands stretched in love. take them, break them and burn them! "Then, in the place where lately he strode, Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road; Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye, Thus, though as ever he pass me by Careless, unseeing, at least my lord's heel Cannot but touch me, at least I shall feel The embrace of his foot; and his sandall'd sole Shall kiss my dust and make me whole. "Then let the heart that he has press'd, The ashen lips by him caressed Sink low in the lowly dust of the road Lest another tread where late he trod. "Mother of Eros, hear thy slave! "Child of the foam, great goddess of love, Aphrodite, look down from above! Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire, Thou, who fulfillest men's hearts with thy fire, All but the heart of my lord that I crave, Hark to thy slave! "

Cora's song rang through the falling night. Her clear voice, tinkling as though with little golden bells, at first soft and hushed, rose throbbing in passion and then broke like a crystal ray and melted in mournfulness and plaintive prayer.