Come to me, my petite odalisque,
Sit beside me with lute and wine,
Softly lull or play notes so brisk
To sing me towards the divine.
O come to me, my little one,
Let me fall deeply into thee
Until words melt away undone
To be replaced by what I see.
O my little sweet silver star
With the hair of evening sundrop
And such rich nutmeg eyes that are
Enough for poverty to stop:
I could have all Zanzibar or have naught,
If I had thy glance, what else need be sought?