the hour approacheth, when, as their stems incline,

the flowers evaporate like an incense urn,

and sounds and scents in the vesper breezes turn;

a melancholy waltz—and a drowsiness divine.

the flowers evaporate like an incense urn,

the viol vibrates like the wailing of souls that repine.

a melancholy waltz—and a drowsiness divine,

the skies like a mosque are beautiful and stern.

the viol vibrates like the wailing of souls that repine;

sweet souls that shrink from chaos vast and etern,

the skies like a mosque are beautiful and stern,

the sunset drowns within its blood-red brine.

sweet souls that shrink from chaos vast and etern,

essay the wreaths of their faded past to entwine,

the sunset drowns within its blood-red brine,

thy thought within me glows like an incense urn.