From the green rivage many a fall
Of diamond rillets musical,

Thro' little crystal arches low

Down from the central fountain's flow

Fall'n silver-chiming, seem'd to shake
The sparkling flints beneath the prow.
A goodly place, a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VI.

Above thro' many a bowery turn

A walk with vary-colour'd shells

Wander'd engrain’d.

On either side

All round about the fragrant marge

From fluted vase, and brazen urn

In order, eastern flowers large,
Some dropping low their crimson bells
Half-closed, and others studded wide

With disks and tiars, fed the time
With odour in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VII.

Far off, and where the lemon-grove

In closest coverture upsprung,

The living airs of middle night

Died round the bulbul as he sung;

Not he but something which possess'd

The darkness of the world, delight,

Life, anguish, death, immortal love,
Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd,
Apart from place, withholding time,
But flattering the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VIII.

Black the garden-bowers and grots

Slumber'd the solemn palms were ranged

Above, unwoo'd of summer wind:

A sudden splendour from behind

Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green,

And, flowing rapidly between

Their interspaces, counterchanged
The level lake with diamond-plots

Of dark and bright. A lovely time,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

IX.

Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead,
Distinct with vivid stars inlaid,

Grew darker from that under-flame :

So, leaping lightly from the boat,
With silver anchor left afloat,

In marvel whence that glory came
Upon me, as in sleep I sank

In cool soft turf upon the bank,

Entranced with that place and time,

So worthy of the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

X.

Thence thro' the garden I was drawn

A realm of pleasance, many a mound,

And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn

Full of the city's stilly sound,

And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round.

The stately cedar, tamarisks,

Thick rosaries of scented thorn,

Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks
Graven with emblems of the time,

In honour of the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XI.

With dazed vision unawares

From the long alley's latticed shade

Emerged, I came upon

Pavilion of the Caliphat.

the great

Right to the carven cedarn doors,
Flung inward over spangled floors,

Broad-based flights of marble stairs

Ran

up with golden balustrade,

After the fashion of the time,

And humour of the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XII.

The fourscore windows all alight

As with the quintessence of flame,
A million tapers flaring bright

From twisted silvers look'd to shame

The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd
Upon the mooned domes aloof

In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd

Hundreds of crescents on the roof

Of night new-risen, that marvellous time,

To celebrate the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XIII.

Then stole I up, and trancedly
Gazed on the Persian girl alone,
Serene with argent-lidded eyes
Amorous, and lashes like to rays
Of darkness, and a brow of pearl
Tressed with redolent ebony,