To Helen
           Edgar Allen Poe

Helen, thy beauty is to me
  Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
  The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
  Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy naiad airs have brought me home
  To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window niche
  How statuelike I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
  Are holy land!