My flowers will never come to fruit, but I have kept my pride—
A little, cold, and lonely thing, and I have naught beside.
The spring-wind caught my flowering dreams, they lightly blew away.
I never had but one true love, and he died yesterday.
BAZAR
Dive in from the sunlight smiting like a falchion
Underneath the awnings to the sudden shade,
Saunter through the packed lane
Many-voiced, colourful,
Rippling with the currents of the south and eastern trade.
Here are Persian carpets, ivory, and peachbloom,
Tints to fill the heart of any child of man;
Here are copper rose-bowls,
Leopard-skins, emeralds,
Scarlet slippers curly-toed and beads from Kordofan.
Water-sellers pass with brazen saucers tinkling,
Hajjis in the doorways tell their amber beads;
Buy a lump of turquoise,
A scimitar, a neckerchief
Worked with rose and saffron for a lovely lady’s needs?
Here we pass the goldsmiths, copper-, brass-, and silversmiths,
All a-clang and jingle, all a-glint and gleam;
Here the silken webs hang,
Shimmering, delicate,
Soft-hued as an afterglow and melting as a dream.
Buy a little blue god brandishing a sceptre,
Buy a dove with coral feet and pearly breast;
Buy some ostrich-feathers,
Silver shawls, perfume-jars,
Buy a stick of incense for the shrine that you love best.