To Helen

　　by Edgar Allan Poe

　　 Helen， thy beauty is to me

　　 Like those Nicean 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 statue-like I see thee stand！

　　 The agate lamp within thy hand，

　　 Ah！ Psyche from the regions which

　　 Are Holy Land！

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