Page:Records of Woman.pdf/92

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And the plantain glitter'd with leaves of gold, As a tree midst the genii-gardens old, And the cypress lifted a blazing spire, And the stems of the cocoas were shafts of fire. Many a white pagoda's gleam Slept lovely round upon lake and stream, Broken alone by the lotus-flowers, As they caught the glow of the sun's last hours, Like rosy wine in their cups, and shed Its glory forth on their crystal bed. Many a graceful Hindoo maid, With the water-vase from the palmy shade, Came gliding light as the desert's roe, Down marble steps to the tanks below; And a cool sweet plashing was ever heard, As the molten glass of the wave was stirr'd; And a murmur, thrilling the scented air, Told where the Bramin bow'd in prayer.