Classic Poem

Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere,
With its roses, the brightest that earth ever gave,
Its temples and grottos, and fountains as clear
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?
Oh! to see it at sunset--when warm o'er the lake
Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws,
Like a bride full of blushes, when lingering to take
A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes!--
When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming half shown,
And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own.
Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells,
Here the magian his urn full of perfume is swinging,
And here at the altar, a zone of sweet bells
Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing.
Or to see it by moonlight--when mellowly shines
The light o'er its palaces, gardens and shrines;
When the water-falls gleam like a quick fall of stars,
And the nightingales' hymn from the Isle of Chenars
Is broken by laughs and wild echoes of feet
From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet--
Or at morn when the magic of day-light awakes
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks,
Hills, cupolas, fountains, called forth every one
Out of darkness, as they were just born of the sun.
When the spirit of Fragrance is up with the day,
From his harem of night-flowers stealing away;
And the wind full of wantonness, woos, like a lover,
The young aspen-trees till they tremble all over.
When the east is as warm as the light of first hopes,
And day, with its banner of radiance unfurled,
Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes,
Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world!