THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS OF GOLCONDA.
orning is round the shining palace,
Mirrored on the tide,
Where the lily lifts her chalice,
With its gold inside,
Like an offering from the waves.
Early wakened from their slumbers,
Stand the glittering ranks;
Who is there shall count the numbers
On the river's banks?
Forth the household pours the slaves
Of the kings of fair Golconda,
Of Golconda’s ancient kings.
Wherefore to the crimson morning
Are the banners spread,
Daybreak’s early colours scorning
With a livelier red?
Pearls are wrought on each silk fold.
Summer flowers are flung to wither
On the common way.
Is some royal bride brought hither
With this festival array,
To the city's mountain-hold
Of the kings of old Golconda,
Of Golconda's ancient kings.[1]
From the gates the slow procession,
Troops and nobles come.
This hour takes the king possession
Of an ancient home—
One he never leaves again.
Musk and sandal-wood and amber
Fling around their breath:
They will fill the murky chamber
Where the bride is Death.
Where the worm hath sole domain
O'er the kings of old Golconda,
O'er Golconda’s ancient kings.
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- ↑ A question mark is added here in some editions
