The roses of Damascus run,
And through the summer’s moons of lustre
The tulip’s goblet drinks the sun.
The day, through shadowy arches fainting,
Reveals the garden’s burst of bloom,
With lights of shifting iris painting
The jasper pavement of thy room:
Enroofed with palm and laurel bowers,
Thou see’st, beyond, the cool kiosk,
And far away, the penciled towers