FROM gold-mosaic'd wave And from the fountain cave Grew my dark-plumaged leaves all green and fountain-cold, My minarets of gold, Mosaic'd like the tomb, Far in the forest gloom, Of water-lovely Fatima in forests far away. The gardener doth sway The branches and doth find (As wrinkled dark and kind As satyrs) these with satyrs' straw beards twined By that gold-fingered arborist the wind. Among thick leaves the shade Seems like a cavalcade, Or Artemis plume-helmeted from sylvan serenade, Or Amazons' ambassade. A Caliph plays a lute, A gardener plays a flute, Then from my feathered stem a most delightful gust, a glittering sea Grows in my rich fruit. And each bird-angel comes To sip dark honey from my plums, My rich green amber gums That make puffed feather sleeves, long feathered skirts all gold, And sticky from the dew my golden net doth hold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE USE OF FLOWERS by MARY HOWITT FORMERLY A SLAVE' (AN IDEALIZED PORTRAIT, BY E. VEDDER) by HERMAN MELVILLE BLIGHTERS by SIEGFRIED SASSOON RIVALRY IN LOVE by WILLIAM WALSH (1663-1707) ONE PERSON: 16 by ELINOR WYLIE TO MR. BARBAULD, WITH A MAP OF THE LAND OF MATRIMONY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE COMPLAINT OF POETIE, FOR THE DEATH OF LIBERALITE by RICHARD BARNFIELD |