Whirled in a swift and cloudy turbulence,
As when some star of Eblis, downward hurled
By Allah’s bolt, sweeps with its burning hair
The waste of darkness. On and on, the bleak,
Bare ridges rose before her, came and passed,
And every flying leap with fresher blood
Her nostril stained, till Sofuk’s brow and breast
Were flecked with crimson foam. He would have turned
To save his treasure, though himself were lost,
But Kubleh fiercely snapped the brazen rein.