The Royal Tombs Of Golconda

I MUSE among these silent fanes 

Whose spacious darkness guards your dust; 

Around me sleep the hoary plains 

That hold your ancient wars in trust. 

I pause, my dreaming spirit hears, 

Across the wind's unquiet tides, 

The glimmering music of your spears, 

The laughter of your royal brides. 

In vain, O Kings, doth time aspire 

To make your names oblivion's sport, 

While yonder hill wears like a tier 

The ruined grandeur of your fort. 

Though centuries falter and decline, 

Your proven strongholds shall remain 

Embodied memories of your line, 

Incarnate legends of your reign. 

O Queens, in vain old Fate decreed 

Your flower-like bodies to the tomb; 

Death is in truth the vital seed 

Of your imperishable bloom 

Each new-born year the bulbuls sing 

Their songs of your renascent loves; 

Your beauty wakens with the spring 

To kindle these pomegranate groves.