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 pray’r 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.[312] 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 nightingale’s hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet.— Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, Hills, cupolas, fountains, call’d forth every one Out of darkness, as if but just born of the Sun. When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day, From his Haram of night-flowers stealing away; And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover The young aspen-trees,[313] till they tremble all over. When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes, And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl’d, Shines in through the mountainous portal[314] that opes, Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world! But never yet, by night or day, In dew of spring or summer’s ray, Did the sweet Valley shine so gay As now it shines—all love and light, Visions by day and feasts by night! A happier smile illumes each brow, With quicker spread each heart uncloses, And all is ecstasy—for now The Valley holds its Feast of Roses;[315] The joyous Time, when pleasures pour Profusely round, and, in their shower, Hearts open, like the Season’s Rose,— The Flow’ret of a hundred leaves,[316] Expanding while the dew-fall flows, And every leaf its balm receives.