“Rosebuds all their fragrance shed,
But his heart they cannot move,
Seeking joys for ever fled,
Through the ruins he must rove.
“Does he dwell amid the flowers,
By some kindly beauty blest?
No; amid the ruin’d towers,
Where the screech owl builds her nest.
“No fair arms around him cling,
Ne’er he tastes a honied kiss;
Songs that ancient dreamers sing,
Those alone afford him bliss.
“Wake him from this sullen sleep,
Lovely spring thy pow’r display,
Or the youth too late will weep,
For the joys he flings away.”[[1]]
Ali went into the garden, and found Lockman sitting under a tree with a guitar in his hand.
“Do you sing too?” asked Ali.
“If the screeching of an owl can be called singing,” replied he, “I sing like the feathered songster of the grove.”
“Your guitar has a pleasant sound.”
“That it learned from a sheep when a wolf struck its claws into its entrails.”
“What were you singing?”