The Sun God hastens toward his setting. The cool breeze of evening is showing its play. The sky is clear, for rain has just fallen, and the westerly wind has scattered the clouds, piled like cotton, far and wide. The crimson glow of the setting sun has claimed its dominion over the heavens, and upon the emerging rainbow, it has cast its splendid, colorful brilliance. As one strolls along the garden paths, which the natural water-bearer has sprinkled scarcely an hour before, the freshly washed, multicolored leaves and the splendor of those white buds—whose one side bears its true color, while the other, touched by the sun's dying glow, turns perfectly golden—fill the heart and soul with a wondrous vigor. The wafting breezes, laden with fragrance, seem to declare that until now you may have thought such marvels mere fables, but today, before your very eyes, these half-bloomed buds prove the proverb "gold and fragrance" true. In the jasmine trellises, delicate white flowers bloom, yet here and there, the last rays of the sun filtering through the leaves create an illusion. One might think that among these white jasmines, yellow jasmines too have blossomed today, and a hand, filled with longing, cannot help but reach out. The vegetable patch ahead, whose beds the gardeners have carefully trimmed to resemble a lush velvet carpet, brings a refreshing coolness to the eyes. See, all around it, in the arranged pots, small wild plants with brightly colored leaves stand, twisting their stems in pride at their own beauty and charm. Along the edges of these paths and beds, the henna trees stand in rows as straight as regiments of soldiers, for from their youth, the gardeners have pruned their spreading branches into fanciful shapes. It is said that the sunflower always turns toward the sun, but

No, look here—see how many sunflowers are planted before us, their large blossoms, with longing gazes, are beholding the supernatural beauty of that exquisite maiden, who stands upon the roof of a chamber built in the very heart of the garden, her eyes fixed upon the setting sun. That is the very direction from which the path into the garden leads. It seems she is awaiting someone's arrival; why else would she, despite the sun's rays, keep her unwavering attention fixed there?

The face of this delicate fairy-like maiden was covered in sweat, yet no sign of the one she awaited appeared. Distressed, she turned to her left, that is, southward, and tried to distract her heart by gazing upon the artificial little hill, where, with great artistry, small mountain plants—crotons, coleus, verbena, begonia, moss, and others with colorful, cheerful leaves—had been planted. Meandering among them, a canal had been cut to water the plants and enhance the hill's beauty. Above, a framework had been erected and draped with a most beautiful silken net, so that the delicate, multicolored birds, whose sweet songs delighted the heart, would not fly away. At this hour, as evening drew near,