The room is sweet with galbanum and nard; Her saffron robe lies on an empty chair. Outside, her leopard strains against his chain And sniffs disconsolate the sultry air. Her jewelled trinkets lie about the room -- A peacock fan, some strings of heavy pearls; A diadem of rubies, bracelets, rings -- Left scattered by the panic of her girls. I look across the roofs of Babylon; At clustered palaces and temple towers; I see the hanging gardens with the trees; And falling waters and a thousand flowers. I see it as a captive king might see -- No longer mine for she is dead -- and slain To ease my jealous frenzy. I am King Of one dark palace in a world of pain. |