The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908]
Through eastern gates I wandered far,
Where cloud-like beauties thronged the way;
Although like clouds their faces are,
My thoughts among them would not stay.
She in rough silk and kerchief blue
Gave me the only joy I knew.
I wandered by the curtain tower,
Like flowering rushes were the maids;
Although they match the rushes' flower,
Soon from my mind their beauty fades.
In humble silk and madder dye,
She fills my heart with ecstasy.