Bakhcisaray

Those halls of the Gireys – still vast and great! –
Are galleries where desolation falls;
Those varicolored domes, those crumbling halls
Where proud pashas upon rich divans sate:
Retreats of love and palaces of state –
Here now the locust leaps, the serpent crawls,
And bindweed Ruin writes, as on the walls
The hand of doom once traced Belshazzar’s fate.
Within, the marble fountain made to hold
The harem waters still unbroken stands,
Which shedding pearly fears, ‘neath shattered panes,
Cries: ,,Where are ye, O Glory, Love, and Gold?
You should endure, while streams waste into sands.
O shame, ye pass – the agelles sprong remains!”