130 THE MARCH OF THE SEASONS 



Now the air, drunk from the breath of the flowers, 

 Faints like a bride whom her bliss overpowers ; 

 Such and so rich is the fragrance that fills 

 Ether and cloud, that its essence distils, 

 As thro' thin lily-leaves, earthward again, 

 Sprinkling with rose-water garden and plain. 

 O joyously, after the winter closes, 

 Returns and burns the time of the roses ! 



O for some magical vase to imprison 



All the sweet incense that yet has not risen, 



And the swift pearls that, radiant and rare, 



Glisten and drop thro' the hollows of air ! 



Vain : they depart, both the beaming and fragrant ; 



So, too, hope leaves us, and love proves a vagrant ; 



Too soon their entrancing illusion closes : 



It cheats, it fleets, the time of the roses ! 



Tempest and thunder and war were abroad ; 

 Riot and turbulence triumphed unawed ; 

 Suleiman rose, and the thunders were hushed, 

 Faction was prostrate, turbulence crushed. 

 Once again peace in her gloriousness rallies ; 

 Once again shine the glad skies on our valleys, 

 And sweetly anew the poet composes 

 His lays in praise of the time of the roses ! 



I, too, Meseehi, already renowned, 

 Centuries hence by my song shall be crowned ; 

 Far as the stars of the wide heaven shine, 

 Men shall rejoice in this carol of mine. 



