Is this thy Paphos,—the devoted place
Where rests, in its own eventide, thy shrine?
To thee not lone is solitude divine
Where love-dreams o’er thy waves each other chase
And melt into the passion of thy face!
The twilight waters, dolphin-stained, are thine;
The silvery depths and blue, moon-orbed, entwine,
And in bright films thy rosy form embrace,—
Girdling thy loins with heaven-spun drapery
Wove in the looms of thy resplendent sea.
The columns point their shadows to the plain
And ancient days are dialed o’er again;
The floods remember: falling at thy feet,
Upon the sands of time they ever beat.