Alpine Forget-Me-Not.

Before earth’s dawn hour thought to wane,

Where Paradise leaned over Iran’s plain,

A man god looked from his templed fane

On a maiden wondrously fair:

He saw her first in the Cashmere’s danks,

Singing at dawn by a river’s banks,

Where the long grass leaned to her, ranks on ranks,

Forget-me-nots twined in her hair.

O night of sorrow in Cashmere’s fen—

For a god may not wed with a maid of men—

Driven in wrath was the man god then

From the genii’s holy mirth,

Till the river-maid’s hand shall scatter and pour

The seeds of the little blue flowers she wore,

From the happy lintels of heaven’s own door

To the uttermost ends of the earth.

The Great Steep’s Garden is musked and fair:

Araby-sweet is the spice on the air:

Ah, softly tread, have gentle care,

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