Violet Nicolson (9 April 1865 – 4 October 1904; otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory)), was an English poet who wrote under the pseudonym Laurence Hope. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author.[1][2] (wikipedia)
Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar, where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?
I shall go the way of the open sea, to the lands I knew before you came, and the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me the memory of your name.
For this is wisdom: to live, to take what fate, or the Gods, may give.
Red lips like a living, laughing rose.
Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel, less than the weed that grows beside thy door.
Men should be judged not by their tint of skin, the gods they serve, the vintage they drink, nor by the way they fight, or love, or sin, but by the quality of the thought they think.
Often devotion to virtue arises from sated desire.
I shall go the way of the open sea, To the lands I knew before you came, And the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me The memory of your name.