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.
 
............