Tales of Arabia
YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia
Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals,
Age—old but yet untamed, for ages
Pass and the magic is undiminished.
Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman,
Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars,
Blind—eyed and ill—starred royal scions,
Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood.
Fair ones, beyond all numerability,
Beam from the palace, beam on humanity,
Bright—eyed, in truth, yet soul—less houris
Offering pleasure and only pleasure.
Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian,
Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities,
Greek Gods or old time—honoured muses,
Easily proffer unloved caresses.
Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy;
Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances,
Cold, stony fruits, gem—like but quite in—
Edible, flatter and wholly starve him.
