Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes 
 Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, 
Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes 
 From out her hair: such balsam falls 
 Down sea-side mountain pedestals, 
From tree-tops where tired winds are fain, 
Spent with the vast and howling main, 
To treasure half their island-gain. 

And strew faint sweetness from some old 
 Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud 
Which breaks to dust when once unrolled; 
 Or shredded perfume, like a cloud 
 From closet long to quiet vowed, 
With mothed and dropping arras hung, 
Mouldering her lute and books among, 
As when a queen, long dead, was young.