IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



An Eastern City's Garden 



Black the garden-bowers and grots 

 Slumber'd: the solemn palms were ranged 

 Above, unwoo'd of summer wind; 

 A sudden splendour from behind 

 Flush'd all the leaves with gold-green, 

 And, flowing rapidly between 

 Their interspaces, counterchanged 

 The level lake with diamond-plots 

 Of dark and bright. A lovely time, 

 For it was in the golden prime 

 Of good Haroun Alraschid. 



Thence thro' the garden I was drawn 

 A realm of pleasance, many a mound, 

 And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn 

 Full of the city's stilly sound, 

 And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round 

 The stately cedar, tamarisks, 

 Thick rosaries of scented thorn, 

 Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks 

 Craven with emblems of the time, 



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