When I was a princess, tall and slim, by some languorous eastern

river, ^__

    (O it was thousands of years ago, and a thousand more and

a day!)

Whenever the sound of the cymbals rose, with their tremulo

crash and quiver,

    The blood in my pulses would stir and leap to the sensuous

music's sway.

 
Life was an idle and weary thing by that sullenly flowing water;
    By hardly a breeze from the wistful sea were the indolent

date palms stirred;

But a wearier thing there lay in the breast of Pharaoh's silent

daughter,

    Till the challenging cymbals clashed and clung, and she lifted

her heart and heard.

 
And life was suddenly vivid, sweet, as, careless of regal duty,
    Slipping her royal robes she rose, so slenderly straight and

tall.

Her jewels were dulled in the sudden blaze of her wakening

youth and beauty,

    And swaying she stood while her sandalled feet were answer-

ing the cymbals' call.

 
Piercing and high the cymbals flung their challenge to life and

passion;

    And she clung to the moment she knew must pass when the

music had died away;

So from Pharaoh's time, through the ages down, they hay

played with the fires they fashion

    From human hearts   .     .     .   and under this far blue north-

ern sky today

 
The blood of that princess, tall and slim, by the slumbering

eastern river, ^__

    (0 it was thousands of years ago when the sun and the stars

were new!)

Till leap to the shivering cymbals' crash, ^__ and as suddenly

drop and quiver,

    When the echoing music has died away, and I know that the

spell is through.

^__Ester M. (Clark) Hill.