Littell's Living Age/Volume 169/Issue 2192/The Poplars

and wretchedly three poplars tall Sway in the twilight of a city high, Mire at their feet, above them cloudy sky, Girt by the limits of a meagre wall O'er which the thin gloom of their shadows fall. And yet beyond them, hid from mortal eye, The East's mysterious magic gardens lie, Where the rapt nightingales forever call From bowering rose and myrtle. At a gate, Unseen by men, an Ethiop doth stand, Finger on lip, to lead me through the land To the dim vastness of cool courts, where late Watches unearthly Beauty. Ah! there be    Spells subtle woven by these wizards three!