Ten ... twenty years ... on the white walls of Rhodes
We talked that evening on the flat, wide roof
Of the old merchant’s house where he was lodged.
I was to leave tomorrow, and we lay
Under the blazing stars. A brown slave girl
Plucked at a lute whose drowsy murmur died
Throbbingly into sweetness.... We were young
And all our gorgeous dreams marched forth in state
Past the great purple bales of Syrian rugs,
Over the thin brown frails of dates, until