THE MAN
The flame is spent, I can no moreHold the tall candle by your door;Too often have I watched to seeYour lagging steps come home to me.The Tyrian traders taught me this:They came perfumed with ambergris,With amethystine robes, and hairCurled by the kisses of salt air.They mocked me for my weary handsHolding your light as love demands;They sang the lure of poppied sleep,Their lips were warm, their eyes were deep.The flame is spent—your pale, weak faceMust seek another resting place;Win me and hold me now who can—The Tyrian trader was a man.Helen Hay Whitney
The flame is spent, I can no moreHold the tall candle by your door;Too often have I watched to seeYour lagging steps come home to me.The Tyrian traders taught me this:They came perfumed with ambergris,With amethystine robes, and hairCurled by the kisses of salt air.They mocked me for my weary handsHolding your light as love demands;They sang the lure of poppied sleep,Their lips were warm, their eyes were deep.The flame is spent—your pale, weak faceMust seek another resting place;Win me and hold me now who can—The Tyrian trader was a man.Helen Hay Whitney
The flame is spent, I can no moreHold the tall candle by your door;Too often have I watched to seeYour lagging steps come home to me.
The flame is spent, I can no more
Hold the tall candle by your door;
Too often have I watched to see
Your lagging steps come home to me.
The Tyrian traders taught me this:They came perfumed with ambergris,With amethystine robes, and hairCurled by the kisses of salt air.
The Tyrian traders taught me this:
They came perfumed with ambergris,
With amethystine robes, and hair
Curled by the kisses of salt air.
They mocked me for my weary handsHolding your light as love demands;They sang the lure of poppied sleep,Their lips were warm, their eyes were deep.
They mocked me for my weary hands
Holding your light as love demands;
They sang the lure of poppied sleep,
Their lips were warm, their eyes were deep.
The flame is spent—your pale, weak faceMust seek another resting place;Win me and hold me now who can—The Tyrian trader was a man.
The flame is spent—your pale, weak face
Must seek another resting place;
Win me and hold me now who can—
The Tyrian trader was a man.
Helen Hay Whitney