At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,
The pacha in his palace lolls at ease;
Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please,
While round-limbed almées dance near his divan.
Slaves lure away ennui with flowers and fan;
And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees,
In dreamy trance, those marvellous mysteries
The prophet sings of in the Al-Korán!
Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,
Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer,