Seraglio Garden
The rose is sinking its head
heavy with dew and fragrance
and the pines are waving so silent
and faint in the sultry air.
The brooks roll their heavy iron
in complete tranquility,
Minarets point at Heaven
in the Turkish faith,
and the halfmoon
slowly drifts away
over the evening-blue
and kisses the herds of roses
and lilies,
all those little flowers
in Seraglio's Garden.