The Tour by Louis Couperus — Read

"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.