the enchanter

Dark eyed,
O woman of my dreams,
Ivory sandaled,
There is none like thee among the dancers,
None with swift feet.

I have not found thee in the tents,
In the broken darkness.
I have not found thee at the well-head
Among the women with pitchers.

Thine arms are as a young sapling under the bark;
Thy face as a river with lights.

White as an almond are thy shoulders;
As new almonds stripped from the husk.
They guard thee not with eunuchs;
Not with bars of copper.

Gilt turquoise and silver are in the place of thy rest.
A brown robe, with threads of gold woven in patterns, has though
gathered about thee,
O Nathat-Ikanaie, "Tree-at-the-river."

As a rillet amng the sedge are thy hands upon me;
Thy fingers a frosted stream.

Thy maidens are white like pebbles;
Their music about thee!

There is none like thee among the dancers;
None with swift feet.

Yay, Ezra Pound. Did you write this on a spring day such as this one that we are rejoicing in today, this beautiful April day with the sky a happy blue, and the wind with the flowing tails of its skirt twirling carefree-ly in a sambaish dance?

Did you know that I quoted this poem on Thursday, May 10th of year 2001? Before quoting this poem, I write:
"I met an interesting character today... a very infatuative one and, and... Italian philosopher-to-be.
Passions sweeping me off my feet, it was bizarre. I am excited..."

My guess is that the charming Italian philosopher-to-be, aka "apotos", quoted me this poem at our first encounter. I'd like to be a tree-at-the-river...
Ah, what a beautiful spring day, which we awaited for so long!