Song of Roxana: A Persian Poem

When, to thy own Roxana’s arms,
Wilt thou, my lovely lord, return?
When on thy blaze of youthful charms
Shall these desiring glances turn?
Anxious I wait thee in the spicy grove;--
My eye-balls ache with watching for my love.

The sofa, for my lord’s repose,
Is scattered o’er with jess’mine wreaths;
There every flower, that Persia knows,
Voluptuous odour breathes;
While in full drops descend the roseate oils,
Press’d from the glowing Orient’s ripen’d spoils.

Light on my couch the virgins shed
Zest, from the rich Latura drawn;
And all in soft profusion spread,
Embath’d in sweets, the snowy lawn.
Haste then, O haste, to glad these longing eyes,
Pride of my life, and transport of my joys!