Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/66

 And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon; In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly Thro' the pure element here calmly lie Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!

So on, thro' scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious King, Whom Death's dark Angel with his lightning torch Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch, Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent Armed with Heaven's sword for man's enfranchisement-- Young AZIM wandered, looking sternly round, His simple garb and war-boots clanking sound But ill according with the pomp and grace And silent lull of that voluptuous place.