Classic Poem

In turquoise-hued and sunset-coloured cloud,
Within the wide imperial palaces,
Where many a white torch and candle is,
The sovereign pages of the Emperor crowd.

Shafts of a thousand fragrances are proud
To mix with amaranth and lilies' fees,
Assyrian gums and Indian incenses,
On carpets deeply piled and furbelowed.

Her mantle is the sun; the moon between
Her feet, the Virgin greets the imperial hall.
(So hoped for, this, the coming of the Queen)

Before her feet the mighty seraphs fall
Whom joyous chorals of the angels praise.
Beside the holy Word she takes her place.