In old romances of Arabian night,
And wondrous tale of Eastern fantasies,
There were no hanging gardens like to these,
Such ecstasy of innocent delight.
Like Kama’s lamps the earth-born stars are bright,
A firefly glamour haunts the dusky trees,
The dark parterres shine out in jewelries,
And dancing lantern-shades bewilder sight.
Flame-flowers are blossoming—amber, green, and rose,
In brake and bush bewitching colours gleam,
Here a white moon casts shadow, there a sun
Of deepest crimson rises, wanes, and grows,
Then dies; while on we walk entranced, and dream
Of worlds where only fancy’s feet may run.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 134)