164 THE SINGING OF BIRDS 



Pale blue in the hollows, 



On the fronds of the cactus, 



Where pale blue the gleaming 



Of fir and cypress, 



With the cones upon them 



Amber or glowing with virgin gold : 



Here where the honey-flower 



Makes the heat fragrant, 



As though from the gardens 



Of Gulistan, 



Where the bulbul singeth 



Through a mist of roses, 



A breath were borne : 



Here where the dream-flowers, 



The cream-white poppies 



Silently waver, 



And where the Scirocco, 



Faint in the hollows, 



Foldeth his soft white wings in the sunlight, 



And lieth sleeping 



Deep in the heart of 



A sea of white violets : 



Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, 



Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly, 



White as a snow-drift in mountain valleys 



When softly upon it the gold light lingers : 



White as the foam of the sea that is driven 



O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-yellow ; 



Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl 



Moves the White Peacock, as though through the 



noon-tide 

 A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment, 



