And redolent of sweets as budding roses.
Too fair for my unskilful hand to trace!
Never a poet could thy charms combine,
Nor artist draw thee in thy winning grace
Unless a monarch of his art divine.
For such a boon, how dare my heart aspire?
Trembling, I bring its wealth of love to thee,
No Persian worshipper of flaming fire
E'er bent his god a more devoted knee.