I found this bit of version in Flora's Dictionary: A Treatise on the Language of Flowers. It is from Thomas Moore's poem The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.
What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day,
With turban'd heads, of every hue and race,
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face,
Like tulip-beds, of different shape and dyes,
Bending beneath th' invisible west-wind's sighs.