A silken sea, a sea of damassin,
With figured foam as flowers wove therein,
Where all the winds walk lightly. From afar —
Clean-carven on the skies of cinnabar —
The palmy isles like azure malachite,
Along the horizon for a time retard
A morning fraught with frankincense and nard,
And purple fires, and amber-scented light,
And flame like flame of perfumes.