Leili

THE serpents are asleep among the poppies,

The fireflies light the soundless panther's way

To tangled paths where shy gazelles are straying,

And parrot-plumes outshine the dying day.

O soft! the lotus-buds upon the stream

Are stirring like sweet maidens when they dream.

A caste-mark on the azure brows of Heaven,

The golden moon burns sacred, solemn, bright

The winds are dancing in the forest-temple,

And swooning at the holy feet of Night.

Hush! in the silence mystic voices sing

And make the gods their incense-offering.