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GULNARE.
151
GULNARE.
Oh, never more the flowers will stoop
Beneath her fairy feet;
The myrtle with its bloom may droop,
But not above her seat;
And no more will that fountain glass
The image of Gulnare—
How softly would that shadow pass
When noon was shining there!
How well the echoes used to know
The music of her lute!
The wind amid the leaves may blow,
But those sweet tones are mute.
The place is now an alter'd place,
And not what it has been;—
It was the beauty of her face
Gave beauty to the scene.
