Xi

Kadisha is a streamlet fair, Which hurries down the pebbled way, As one who hath small time to spare, So far to go, so much to say To summer air;

Sometimes the wavelets wimple in O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves, And little circles dimple in, As if the waters quaffed themselves, The while they spin:

Thence in a clear pool, overbent With lotus-tree and tamarind flower, Empearled, and lulled in golden bower, Kadisha sleeps content.