But gilded roof and arch are lost
In shadows that no star hath crossed.
A trickling fountain's lulling flow
Unseen doth greet the listener's ear,
While fannings of faint sweetness show
The lily and the rose are near ;
And there its drapery's glossy shine
Alone the silken couch betrays,
Where the pale Fatmeh doth recline,
O'er whom in silence Gerda prays.
For days hath frenzied fever laid
His fiery hand upon her head,
With phantoms dire her brain possessed,
And filled her soul with dark unrest.
The shadow of death's wing is nigh ;
Oh, will he smite her, or pass by ?
At length the leaping pulses flow
More calmly ; since the midnight hours
She softly sleeps ; her breathing now