Edgar Allan Poe

To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me
    Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
    The weary, wayworn 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! 

spoken = Eye'z