Made men his guests upon a mountain top
Whereon his tomb grayed from a thistle crop;—
A tomb of rock where women, hewn of stone,
Rude figures, spread dishevelled hair, whose moan
From dark to daybreak made the silence sigh,
At which the camel-drivers, tented nigh,
"Ghouls or hyenas" shuddering would say,
But only granite women find at day:—
Among such tales—who questions of their truth?—
One tale still haunts me from my earliest youth;