By George Sterling
Oh! have thy feet trod Heaven, or hath thy flight
In lands of faery found the Golden Age?
Didst bend from Troy to watch the battle-rage
Uplift the swords of heroes, or by night
Hast waited on the starry Sapphic height
To claim from Love thy beauty's heritage?
For as I wrote, O Sweet! full on the page
Fell thy soul's shadow, on my mind its light.
Save for thy face my vision waiteth blind,
As wait my lips thy tender, proud caress;
Save for thy call I hasten to mischance,
O star who leadest unto beauty! Wind
Whose feet in woodlands sad with loveliness
Have wandered, and in valleys of romance!