Still vast, but desolate, the dwelling of the Girey kings! <br />On stairs, in vestibules once brushed by Pashas' brows <br />And across sofas that were thrones of power, sanctuaries of love, <br />Grasshoppers veer and bounce, the serpent winds, <br /> <br />And rank vines crawl through myriad-colored windows <br />To invade mute vaults and voiceless halls, conquer <br />Man's labor in the name of nature, and inscribe <br />There in the letters of Balthazar: DESTRUCTION. <br /> <br />In the center of a hall, a basin hewn in marble: <br />The fountain of the harem, still intact, <br />Whispers its tearful pearls alone, as if to ask: <br /> <br />Where are they, grandeur, power and love? Their term <br />Was to have been forever, and the stream's, ephemeral, <br />But they have passed and the white fount is here.<br /><br />Adam Mickiewicz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bakhchisarai/
