Thy gracious ways,
O Lady of my heart, have
O’er all my thought their golden glamour cast;
As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms
Tread softly ‘neath the damask shield of night,
Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected,
So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth,
Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth.
“The glowing rays
That from the low sun dart, have
Turned gold each tower and every towering mast;
The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms
Hides Khadeeth’s pearl and all the sapphire might
Of burnished waves, before her gates collected:
The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth,
Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: Of Incense”