  The rose-trees and the barberries Are strung with coral beads; And fitful breezes lightly sift The ripened poppy-seeds. Still, heedless of the nipping frost, Along the garden bed The white and purple gillyflowers Their spicy fragrance shed. And weaving richest tapestries Upon the lattice frame, The woodbine laces in and out In gold, and rose, and flame. Along the wall the grapevines trace Their brown and twisted frets, And all the trailing clematis Is hung with soft aigrettes. Through fringes that the larches wave The sky shows fair and blue, And somewhere, from beneath the eaves, I hear the pigeons coo. The glory of the noonday sun Pervades the dreamy air, And the sweet heart of beauty throbs In music everywhere.
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