Strange dancing-girl with curls of golden wire,
With strait white veil, and sinister jewel strung
Upon your brows, your sombre eyes desire
Some secret thing. Garlanded leaves are young
Around your head, and, in your beauty's hours,
Venice yet loved that joy's enthusiast
Be frail, fantastic as gilt iris-flowers.
O startling reveller from out the Past,
Long, long ago through lanes of chrysophrase
The Dark Eros compelled his exquisite
Evil apostle. This painter made your praise,
A piece of art, a curious delight.
But your ghost wanders. Yesterday your sweet
Accusing eyes challenged me in the street.