Lolling in ambush round the great courtyard
"To pounce on wingèd words. Athwart the arcade
Midday in golden bars came clanging down
Upon the anvil of each turbaned crown,
And many minds took refuge in my shade.
I was divinely hard to understand,
Talking until my throat was dry as sand.
"So to the mosque well—into it they pushed
A dog who disagreed with me—and drew
Relief what time the pigeons ceased to coo