Classic Poem

See how the setting sun adorns the plain,
With splendid rays of gold and crimson hue!
Where is the noble heart that does not glow,
With new-born rapture at so fair a scene?
Look to the stars! how beautiful they shine!
How musical the murm'ring waters flow!
Surely an Emp'ror hath his garden here!
The carpets of the King of Morning glow
With many brilliant hues; but these gay fields
Are with more rich and varied colours dy'd;
The air is full of musk; the stream exhales
Ottar of roses; jessamine that bows
Beneath a load of flowers, rose-trees that breathe
Odours around, these are the garden-gods—
There struts the Pheasant of his plumage proud,
And here the nightingale and turtle-dove
Timid descend upon the cypress boughs.
Far as the eye can reach along the stream,
It rests on paradise. The hills, and plains
Are cover'd with young girls angel-bright.
No wonder Man is happy where [Menischeh],
The daughter of [Afrasiab] appears;
'Tis she who makes this garden beautiful,
And brilliant as the sun; child of a king
A new-born Star! 'tis she who hath diffus'd
This richness, and this spendour o'er the plain,
Above the rose and jessamine she shines;
Beauty unequal'd! her bright face is veil'd,
But the cypress equals not her form in grace;
Her mouth exhales a cloud of amber round her,
On her fair cheeks roses repose; her eyes
Are dark, and full of sleep; her parted lips
Are colour'd like pure-wine, and their perfume!
His the rose's essence! Would to God!
That we could reach that dwelling place of bliss
Would that it were the journey of a day!—