By Nora May French

I see upon the desert"s yellow rim,
            Beyond the trodden sand and herbage white
  Of level noon intolerably bright,
A purple lure of love divine and dim.
I hasten toward the fronded palm trees slim—
  The fountains of the city of delight—
  And stand bewildered to my heart"s despite
In empty plains where hot horizon"s swim.

Will I who love the vision gain at last
  For very love of love the city"s gates?
    I, weary, desert-wandering, knowing this:
That waiting me the golden doors are fast,
  And fathom-deep in dream the Princess waits,
    Her curving mouth uplifted for the kiss.

Footnote: "Mirage" is an endeavor to portray the alien attitude of one who had long vainly sought love.