Of Mongol sultans, Kurdish braves.
They—Find me words! the Simûn raves—
They worked ... 'tis called their will,
Battered me in—behold the dint—
With all their hearts that felt like flint,
Besmeared the city with the tint
Of sunset on my hill.
My leopards stalk my bucks at eve—
I shivered as I heard them heave—
At least they ate their kill.