Originally published in The Keepsake for 1828 (Hurst, Chance, and Co.; Nov 1827).
The Sun was in his western chamber
Sunk on his cloudy ottomans,
All tissued scarlet, gold, and amber;
The breezes round him waved their fans.
Below, the twilight ting'd the water;
The bee was humming through the roses;
The ringdove told what nature taught her:
'Tis thus a Persian evening closes.
Who paces with such fairy feet
Beside that fountain's dewy gushings?
Why does her heart so wildly beat,
Why paint her cheek those crimson flushings?
Why, like the fawn from hunters flying,
Those glances through the perfum'd grove?
Why panting, weeping, smiling, sighing?
Thus Persian maidens fall in love.
But see, the rustling of the blossoms,
Like snow, a warrior shakes them round him;
And to the loveliest of all bosoms
Swears that its spells for life have bound him.
The turtle o'er them waves its wing;
In silver o'er them smiles the Moon;
And still the Persian maidens sing
The loves of Osmyn and Meinoun.