ZENOBIA.
89
Beyond the reach of desert and of plain,
She stands beside the temples of her gods.
In fair Palmyra. Round her in the air
The swaying palm-trees nod their tufted plumes,
And eastern blossoms drunk with eastern spice
Fling perfume from their honeyed chalices.
She stands beside the temples of her gods.
In fair Palmyra. Round her in the air
The swaying palm-trees nod their tufted plumes,
And eastern blossoms drunk with eastern spice
Fling perfume from their honeyed chalices.
She hears within her palace walls once more
Her children's voices playing in the shade
That filters through the garden walks; or proud
In all the blazoned pageantry of war,
She leads again from out the city gates
The shining legions of her dauntless hosts,
And hears, like incense rising from their lips,
The shout of praise that lifts her name to heaven.
Her children's voices playing in the shade
That filters through the garden walks; or proud
In all the blazoned pageantry of war,
She leads again from out the city gates
The shining legions of her dauntless hosts,
And hears, like incense rising from their lips,
The shout of praise that lifts her name to heaven.
Her heart is with Palmyra as it stood
In bygone days, her glory and her pride;
Nor in her fiftful musing does she dream
Of that dark hour, when, silent and alone,
She saw the royal purple of her robe
Grow dim forever with the stain of blood
And dust of desolation.
······
In bygone days, her glory and her pride;
Nor in her fiftful musing does she dream
Of that dark hour, when, silent and alone,
She saw the royal purple of her robe
Grow dim forever with the stain of blood
And dust of desolation.
······
