There is a legend, lost in some old dusty
Tome of the East,—and who will question it?—
Concluding ancient wisdom, rather musty,
Wherein much war and wickedness and wit,
Insult and wrath and love and shame are writ:
Wherein is written that, when Mahomet
Fled out of Mecca from the people's wrath,
He met a shadow standing in his path,
A naked horror, blacker than hewn jet.
It in one hand held out a flaming jewel,