Zuleika Dobson

Here the great houses, vast courtyards, a thousand carriages

And on the lake golden

Swans lifting their wings. I must be crazy, Zuleika Dobson,

To want you still.

The rain-cloud’s crest reddens the north-west,

A storm’s blown down the sal trees.

The moon’s just risen. I await your decision,

Zuleika Dobson.