It lay within a glass of green,
A sinuous glass of subtle green.
It sparkled with a slimy sheen.
A languorous fascination gleamed
With glint of lapis lazuli;
And from its silken surface streamed
The scent of musk from Araby.
Ah—was that music only dreamed
That tinct the drowsy scene?
And was my fancy false, or seemed
The glass to lure me with its limpid green?
My fingers fluttered to the stem,
To kiss the fluted, serpent stem,
As pious Persians kiss the hem,
Enwove with many a wanton trick,
Of Persia's deified Sofi.
I could not see; the light seemed thick
As perfume from the balsam-tree,
Or incense in a basalic
When sounds a requiem.
I drank the draught; my sense was sick;
My quivering fingers crushed the curling stem.
I dropped the cup of crystal-green;
I scattered fragments emerald-green—
False emeralds with a glassy sheen.
Upon the pavement, how they gleamed!
I flung the bits of serpent-stem
Upon the table beryl-seamed.
I swept them with my garment's hem—
Some say I laughed—That night, I dreamed
Of Araby—a scene
Of sleepy charm whence fragrance streamed;
And in mirage, the desert blossomed green.
January 16, 1913. |