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| THE POET came to the Land of the East, | |
| When Spring was in the air: | |
| The Earth was dressed for a wedding feast, | |
| So young she seemed, and fair; | |
| And the Poet knew the Land of the East,— | 5 |
| His soul was native there. | |
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| All things to him were the visible forms | |
| Of early and precious dreams,— | |
| Familiar visions that mocked his quest | |
| Beside the Western streams, | 10 |
| Or gleamed in the gold of the clouds, unrolled | |
| In the sunset’s dying beams. | |
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| He looked above in the cloudless calm, | |
| And the Sun sat on his throne; | |
| The breath of gardens, deep in balm, | 15 |
| Was all about him blown, | |
| And a brother to him was the princely Palm, | |
| For he cannot live alone. | |
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| His feet went forth on the myrtled hills, | |
| And the flowers their welcome shed; | 20 |
| The meads of milk-white asphodel | |
| They knew the Poet’s tread, | |
| And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, | |
| The poppy’s bonfire spread. | |
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| And, half in shade and half in sun, | 25 |
| The Rose sat in her bower, | |
| With a passionate thrill in her crimson heart,— | |
| She had waited for the hour! | |
| And, like a bride’s, the Poet kissed | |
| The lips of the glorious flower. | 30 |
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| Then the Nightingale, who sat above | |
| In the boughs of the citron-tree, | |
| Sang: “We are no rivals, brother mine, | |
| Except in minstrelsy; | |
| For the rose you kissed with the kiss of love, | 35 |
| She is faithful still to me.” | |
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| And further sang the Nightingale: | |
| “Your bower not distant lies. | |
| I heard the sound of a Persian lute | |
| From the jasmined window rise, | 40 |
| And, twin-bright stars, through the lattice-bars, | |
| I saw the Sultana’s eyes.” | |
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| The Poet said: “I will here abide, | |
| In the Sun’s unclouded door; | |
| Here are the wells of all delight | 45 |
| On the lost Arcadian shore: | |
| Here is the light on sea and land, | |
| And the dream deceives no more.” | |
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