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!

~ Edgar Allan Poe

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