In The Gold Room - A Harmony

　　Her ivory hands on the ivory keys

　　Strayed in a fitful fantasy，

　　Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees

　　Rustle¹ their pale-leaves listlessly，

　　Or the drifting foam² of a restless sea

　　When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.

　　Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold

　　Like the delicate gossamer³ tangles⁴ spun⁵

　　On the burnished⁶ disk of the marigold，

　　Or the sunflower turning to meet the sun

　　When the gloom of the dark blue night is done，

　　And the spear of the lily is aureoled.

　　And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine

　　Burned like the ruby⁷ fire set

　　In the swinging lamp of a crimson⁸ shrine⁹，

　　Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate，

　　Or the heart of the lotus drenched¹⁰ and wet

　　With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.