VII

In closest coverture upsprung,

The living airs of middle night

Died round the bulbul as he sung;

Not he: but something which possess'd

The darkness of the world, delight.

Life, anguish, death, immortal love.

Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd,

      Apart from place, witholding time,

      But flattering the golden prime

            Of good Haroun Alraschid.