IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



They say the Lion and the Lizard keep 



The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank 



deep: 



And Bahram, that great Hunter the wild Ass 

 Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his sleep. 



I sometimes think that never blows so red 

 The rose as when some buried Caesar bled; 

 That every Hyacinth the Garden wears 

 Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely head. 



And this reviving Herb whose tender green 

 Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean 

 Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows 

 From what once lovely lip it springs unseen! 

 EDWARD FITZ GERALD. 

 Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 



A Song of Phaeacia 



The Languid sunset, mother of roses, 

 Lingers, a light on the magic seas, 



The wide fire flames, as a flower encloses, 

 Heavy with odour, and loose to the breeze. 



[54] 



