Classic Poem

I.

The Spice Tree lives in the garden green,
Beside it the fountain flows,
And a fair Bird sits the boughs between,
And sings his melodious woes.

II.

No greener garden e'er was known
Within the bounds of an earthly King;
No lovelier skies have ever shone
Than those that illumine its constant spring.

III.

That coil-bound stem has branches three,
On each a thousand blossoms grow;
And old as aught of time can be,
The root stands fast in the rock below.

IV.

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire
The fount that builds a silvery dome,
And flakes of purple and ruby fire
Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam.

V.

The fair white Bird of flaming crest,
And azure wings bedropt with gold,
Ne'er has he known a pause of rest,
But sings the lament thaThe framed of old.

VI.

" O! Princess bright! how long the night
Since thou art sunk in the waters clear;
How sadly they flow from the depth below,
How long must I sing, and thou wilt noThear?

VII.

" The waters play, and the flowers are gay,
And the skies are sunny above;
I would that all could fade and fall,
And I too cease to mourn my love.

VIII.

" O! many a year so wakeful and drear
I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for thee!
But there comes no breath from the chambers of death,
While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree. "

IX.

The skies grow dark, and they glare with red,
The tree shakes off its spicy bloom,
The waves of the fount in a black pool spread,
And in thunder sounds the garden's doom.

X.

Down springs the Bird with long shrill cry,
Into the sable and angry flood,
And the face of the pool, as he falls from high,
Curdles in circling stains of blood.

XI.

But sudden again upswells the fount,
Higher and higher the waters flow,
In a glittering diamond arch they mount,
And round it the colours of morning glow.

XII.

Finer and finer the watery mound
Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil,
And tones of music circle around,
And bear to the stars the fountain's tale.

XIII.

And swift the eddying rainbow screen
Falls in dew on the grassy floor;
Under the spice-tree the Garden's Queen
Sits by her Lover, who wails no more.