Whither dost thou hide from the magic of my flute-call？ In what moonlight-tangled meshes¹ of perfume, Where the clustering keovas guard the squirrel's slumber², Where the deep woods glimmer³ with the jasmine's bloom？

    I'll feed thee, O beloved, on milk and wild red honey, I'll bear thee in a basket of rushes, green and white, To a palace-bower where golden-vested maidens⁴ Thread with mellow⁵ laughter the petals⁶ of delight.

    Whither dost thou loiter, by what murmuring hollows, Where oleanders scatter⁷ their ambrosial⁸ fire？ Come, thou subtle bride of my mellifluous⁹ wooing, Come, thou silver-breasted moonbeam of desire！