_Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love's story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._…
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