The rose-trees and the barberries
Are strung with coral beads;
And fitful breezes lightly sift
The ripened poppy-seeds.
Still, heedless of the nipping frost,
Along the garden bed
The white and purple gillyflowers
Their spicy fragrance shed.
And weaving richest tapestries
Upon the lattice frame,
The woodbine laces in and out
In gold, and rose, and flame.
Along the wall the grapevines trace
Their brown and twisted frets,
And all the trailing clematis
Is hung with soft aigrettes.
Through fringes that the larches wave
The sky shows fair and blue,
And somewhere, from beneath the eaves,
I hear the pigeons coo.
The glory of the noonday sun
Pervades the dreamy air,
And the sweet heart of beauty throbs
In music everywhere.