Suffer sickness, plague, or dearth, 

 Living in a golden climate 

 In the fairest place on earth, 

 Living thus thro' endless summers 

 And half-summers hardly colder, 

 Growing, tho' they hardly guessed it, 

 Very gradually older. 

 I can very well imagine 

 These old Persian lords and ladies 

 Sitting in their pleasant gardens, 

 Dreaming, dozing, where the shade is; 

 Almond trees a mass of blossom, 

 Roses, roses, red as wine, 

 With the helmets of the tulips 

 Flaming in a martial line, 

 While beside a marble basin, 

 With a fountain gushing forth, 

 Stands a red-legged crane, alighted 

 From the deserts of the North. 

 So they lived these ancient people, 

 Prev. P 6/128 next