In Ispahan Poem by Anna Johnston MacManus

One sunny day in Ispahan,
The Persian Yusuf sat and read
With eager eyes and bent white head
The World's great tale since Time began:
And turned his old lined face to me
Who gazed straight out unheedingly–
For now the passions of a man
Had grown, and Love held stronger sway
(Than aught that lived and passed away)
O'er me that day in Ispahan.

That sunny day in Ispahan,
The high-hung burning orb unrolled
O'er dreaming vales his sheet of gold,
Of red and amber raylets' span,
And each warm flow'ret dropped its head
Asleep upon its scented bed:
And through the happy hush there ran
The sudden crooning of a bird
That round the tree-tops flashed and whirred
That sunny day in Ispahan.

That sunny day in Ispahan,
I saw my slender maid go by,
Scarce lifting up the lids that lie
Black-fringed upon her cheeks so wan:
And then I mused:–'What books can hold
Such love as her heart bears untold,
Whose brow the perfumed breezes fan,
Whose curved red mouth controls my fate,
So that I grieve, so that elate
I count life Heaven in Ispahan.'

That sunny day in Ispahan,
I weighed all science deep and rare,
Grand poet-songs beyond compare;
And turning to the love-worn man
I cried, 'My love holds nature's grace
(Enough for me) within her face;
No tomes that ever yet were read
Shrine beauty such as that sweet head
Shows in its bendings to and fro;
I go to her; she is my star,
My shadow near; my moon afar,
To guide me through all glooms of woe.'

I rose and left that wondering man,
Still vision-wrapped in Ispahan.