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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.


By Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836–1907)

THOUGH I am native to this frozen zone

That half the twelvemonth torpid lies, or dead;

Though the cold azure arching overhead

And the Atlantic’s never-ending moan

Are mine by heritage, I must have known

Life otherwhere in epochs long since fled;

For in my veins some Orient blood is red,

And through my thought are lotus blossoms blown.

I do remember … it was just at dusk,

Near a walled garden at the river’s turn,

(A thousand summers seem but yesterday!)

A Nubian girl, more sweet than Khoorja musk,

Came to the water-tank to fill her urn,

And with the urn she bore my heart away!