In these desert groves of stone
Serpents coil and lizards cling;
But no bird's caressing wing
And time-untroubled carolling
Gladden boughs that know not Spring,
In these desert groves of stone.

Lifeless are all flowers that can
Flame, in these stark groves of stone:
Drier than the sun-bleached bone,
Left by some lost caravan
For Saharan sands to hone,
Are these leafless groves of stone.

Lifeless? but how beautiful!
Blooms no mortal hand may cull
Flower from these groves of stone
When the sleepless pilgrim-sun
At dawn and dusk, in orison,
Touches them as beads each one:

Yet shall heaven's white-veiled nun
Conjure from these groves of stone
Blossoms, lovelier than are known
To the pilgrimaging sun —
Blooms that never fed the bee
Nor danced to the wind's wild minstrelsy.