The Poems of Emma Lazarus, Volume 1

ARABESQUE.

     On a background of pale gold
     I would trace with quaint design,
         Penciled fine,
     Brilliant-colored, Moorish scenes,
     Mosques and crescents, pages, queens,
         Line on line,
     That the prose-world of to-day
     Might the gorgeous Past's array
         Once behold.

     On the magic painted shield
     Rich Granada's Vega green
         Should be seen;
     Crystal fountains, coolness flinging,
     Hanging gardens' skyward springing
         Emerald sheen;
     Ruddy when the daylight falls,
     Crowned Alhambra's beetling walls
         Stand revealed;

     Balconies that overbrow
     Field and city, vale and stream.
         In a dream
     Lulled the drowsy landscape basks;
         Mark the gleam
     Silvery of each white-swathed peak!
     Mountain-airs caress the cheek,
         Fresh from the snow.

     Here in Lindaraxa's bower
     The immortal roses bloom;
         In the room
     Lion-guarded, marble-paven,
     Still the fountain leaps to heaven.
         But the doom
     Of the banned and stricken race
     Overshadows every place,
         Every hour.

     Where fair Lindaraxa dwelt
     Flits the bat on velvet wings;
         Mute the strings
     Of the broken mandoline;
     The Pavilion of the Queen
         Widely flings
     Vacant windows to the night;
     Moonbeams kiss the floor with light
         Where she knelt.

     Through these halls that people stepped
     Who through darkling centuries
         Held the keys
     Of all wisdom, truth, and art,
     In a Paradise apart,
        Lapped in ease,
     Sagely pondering deathless themes,
     While, befooled with monkish dreams,
         Europe slept.

     Where shall they be found today?
     Yonder hill that frets the sky
         "The last Sigh
     Of the Moor" is named still.
     There the ill-starred Boabdil
         Bade good-by
     To Granada and to Spain,
     Where the Crescent ne'er again
         Holdeth sway.

     Vanished like the wind that blows,
     Whither shall we seek their trace
         On earth's face?
     The gigantic wheel of fate,
     Crushing all things soon or late,
        Now a race,
     Now a single life o'erruns,
     Now a universe of suns,
         Now a rose.