Hélas by David Park Barnitz — Read

-Why sittest thou, O Muse, in grief enfolden?

-Thou hast me promis'd jewels rich and rare To wear within my hair;

And for my slaves the kings of kingdoms olden;

And to abide in lofty castles golden, Because I am most fair.

And lo, I have no sandals for my feet, And little bread to eat.

Of that far golden Irem I am dreaming, Whence for few kisses I did follow thee;

Fair is that spot to see, With far-off waving palms and towers gleaming;

Great deserts round that isle of blissful seeming Lie stretching endlessly.