THE MAN
Reading edition
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 hair Curled by the kisses of salt air. 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 face Must seek another resting place; Win me and hold me now who can— The Tyrian trader was a man. Helen Hay Whitney