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O wild, dark flower of woman,
Deep rose of my desire.
An eastern wizard made you
of earth and stars and fire.
When the orange moon swung low
over the camphor-trees,
by the silver shaft of the fountain
he wrought his mysteries.
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The hot, sweet mould of the garden
he took from a secret place
to become your glimmering body
and the lure of your strange face.
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From the swoon of the tropic heaven
he drew down star on star
and breathed them into your soul
that your soul might wander far--
on earth forever homeless,
but intimate of the spheres,
a pang in your mystic laughter,
a portent in your tears.
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from the night's heat, hushed, electric,
he summoned a shifting flame,
and cherished it, and blew on it
till it burned into your name.
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And he set the name in my heart
for an unextinguished fire,
o wild, dark flower of woman,
deep rose of my desire.
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