 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
58
THE MARVEL OF ARABIA.
From the Arabic of Caab.
Thy sweet mouth is like some Garden
Well inclosed with rosy bowers;
Thy sweet lips, like Eden's Warden,
Guarding it with swords of flowers—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Well inclosed with rosy bowers;
Thy sweet lips, like Eden's Warden,
Guarding it with swords of flowers—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Like the Cherubim that guarded
Eden's Gates of Promise fair,
They now keep thy pure soul warded,
Safe from every earthly care—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Eden's Gates of Promise fair,
They now keep thy pure soul warded,
Safe from every earthly care—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Watering this fair Eden vestal,
With sweet rivulets of song,
Purling cascatelles of crystal
Leaped the coral of her tongue—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
With sweet rivulets of song,
Purling cascatelles of crystal
Leaped the coral of her tongue—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Let their unsealed silence, oral,
Into rapturous rivers roll,
Over cataracts of coral—
Eden opens on my soul—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul!
Into rapturous rivers roll,
Over cataracts of coral—
Eden opens on my soul—
More odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul!
Her white breasts hang on her bosom
Like Magnolias in the bud,
Side by side, about to blossom,
Fairest ones in all the wood—
Like Angel's fruit, upon some heavenly Tree,
Growing in Eden, not to touch, but see.
Like Magnolias in the bud,
Side by side, about to blossom,
Fairest ones in all the wood—
Like Angel's fruit, upon some heavenly Tree,
Growing in Eden, not to touch, but see.
59
Then the teeth of this fair daughter,
Seen behind her lips divine,
Looked like bubbles of pure water
Dancing on the top of wine;
Eden's Opal walls were not more even—
Sparkling like the Pleiades of Heaven.
Seen behind her lips divine,
Looked like bubbles of pure water
Dancing on the top of wine;
Eden's Opal walls were not more even—
Sparkling like the Pleiades of Heaven.
Fairer than the Moon when crescent,
Was her oval forehead fair,
When no clouds in Heaven are present,
And the sky looks very clear;
Her breath more odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Was her oval forehead fair,
When no clouds in Heaven are present,
And the sky looks very clear;
Her breath more odorous than the Attar-Gul
Made of the Rose that won Bul-Bul.
Underneath her floor of crystal
Trickled rivulets of song,
Lulling this fair virgin vestal
Into slumber calm as long—
The Diamonds sparkling there so bright at even,
That night seemed day—but it is always Day in Heaven.
Trickled rivulets of song,
Lulling this fair virgin vestal
Into slumber calm as long—
The Diamonds sparkling there so bright at even,
That night seemed day—but it is always Day in Heaven.
New Haven, July 8, 1850.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |