You faded and forgot the joy of youth;

Of bitter memory that stings and glows.

How dare you now on Poland shine forsooth,

Sleeps where beneath the wind the long grass blows?

 Alone, My Polish Rose, I die, like you. Beside your grave a while pray let me rest With other wanderers at some grief's behest. The tongue of Poland by your grave rings true. High-hearted, now a young boy past it goes, Of you it is he sings, My Polish Rose. 

Beside your grave a while pray let me rest

The tongue of Poland by your grave rings true.

Of you it is he sings, My Polish Rose.

[15]

[15]

THE GRAVES OF THE HAREM

 They sleep well here whom Allah loved and kept And treasured in his vineyard fair and fine, Most lustrous of the Orient pearls that shine, Which youth found where the waves of passion swept. Here, where in peace perpetual they have slept, A turban beckons where the roses twine, A banner flutters out in silken line, And sometimes here a Giaour's name is kept. 

And treasured in his vineyard fair and fine,

Which youth found where the waves of passion swept.

A turban beckons where the roses twine,

And sometimes here a Giaour's name is kept.

 Oh! roses of this paradise of old, The eyes that loved not Allah saw you not, Nor arms that prayed not eastward could enfold! But now a Christian treads this hallowed spot; Wise Allah, curse not him who bows his head Amid the marble shrines of Allah's dead! 

The eyes that loved not Allah saw you not,

But now a Christian treads this hallowed spot;

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