LEILI

 THE serpents are asleep among the poppies, 
The fireflies light the soundless panther's way 
To tangled paths where shy gazelles are straying, 
And parrot-plumes outshine the dying day.
 
O soft! the lotus-buds upon the stream 
Are stirring like sweet maidens when they dream.
 


A caste-mark on the azure brows of Heaven, 
The golden moon burns sacred, solemn, bright 
The winds are dancing in the forest-temple, 
And swooning at the holy feet of Night.
 
Hush! in the silence mystic voices sing 
And make the gods their incense-offering.

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