Below the heathen nightingales, Embalm, within their seven veils Of song, Salome--swathings fine Scented with fountain, rose and vine-- Tired Pharaoh falls back in his box; The lid snaps down. The golden flocks Of stars browse round the singing trees And orchards of Hesperides. Down here no sound, except forlorn Sad padding of the unicorn Who seeks a refuge from the snare Of cruel hunters; lurking here His horn, his mane, his shape are hid In slumber of the pyramid. Safe here is he; for in this place Hide every legendary race;
Saints, satyrs, unicorns, entrance Us with their fabulous elegance; And Pharaoh himself sits up to tea Under the shade of the incense tree Yet nomads, wandering, will find No tree, no murmur, no soft wind!
Gentle hills hold on their lap Cloud-rippled meadows where tall trees sigh. The round pool catches in her lap Greenness of tree and breadth of sky.
The mottled thrush that sings, serene, Of English worm in English lane, Is left behind. We change the scene For jungle or for rolling plain.
I rock the children, carry them On wooden waves that creak like me, From Joppa to Jerusalem Or to a far Cerulean sea,
Where flutter winds that bear the balm And breathing of a million flowers That nod beneath a feathery palm; Where dusky figures, in cool bowers
Of fretted coral, singing, swim --Forget the missionary who wishes To make them chant a British hymn And hide their nakedness from fishes.
Within the limits of this stride I can encompass any space; Time's painted gates are open wide, The Old Gods give me their embrace.
Now off to Babylon we trot To see the hanging gardens, where Tree, trailing vine and mossy grot Show proudly in the upper air
Above the shifting evening throng, Like giant galleons with full sails; These streams have robbed their crystal song From honey-throated nightingales.
We've watched the Roman legions pass --The Tower of Babel, waver ... fall; We've stroked the wooden horse that was The hidden breach in great Troy's wall.
Softly the rainbow Pantaloon, Slinks down night's alley. (Oh! how still is The evening on this wide lagoon, Where palaces like water-lilies
Float palely in the trembling peace Of stars and little waves.) Sails past Jason, who stole the golden fleece To nail it high above his mast....
