Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/185

Rh

Like the spirit of music in ocean shells; And tulips, with every colour that shines In the radiant gems of Serendib's mines: One tulip was found in every wreath, That one most scorched by the summer's breath, Whose passionate leaves with their ruby glow Hide the heart that lies burning and black below. And there, beneath the flowered shade By a pink acacia made, lay, and by his side, With eye and breath and blush that vied With the star and with the flower In their own and loveliest hour, Was that fair Bayadere, the dove Yet nestling in her long black hair: