And heard the million tongues of old Baghdad,
Till out of Basrah, as the dawn took wing,
Came up the laden camels, string on string;
But now there is not left them anything
Of all the wealth and wisdom that they had.
Somehow I cannot see you, lean and browned,
Chasing the swart Osmanli through the scrub
Or hauling railroad ties and "steel mild round"
Sunk in the sands of Irak to the hub,
Heaping coarse oaths on Mesopotamy;