Palabras Grandiosas

After T—— B—— A——

I LAY i’ the bosom of the sun,

Under the roses dappled and dun.

I thought of the Sultan Gingerbeer,

In his palace beside the Bendemeer,

With his Afghan guards and his eunuchs blind,

And the harem that stretched for a league behind.

The tulips bent i’ the summer breeze,

Under the broad chrysanthemum trees,

And the minstrel, playing his culverin,

Made for mine ears a merry din.

If I were the Sultan, and he were I,

Here i’ the grass he should loafing lie,

And I should bestride my zebra steed,

And the ride of the hunt of the centipede;

While the pet of the harem, Dandeline,

Should fill me a crystal bucket of wine,

And the kislar aga, Up-to-Snuff,

Should wipe my mouth when I sighed “Enough!”

And the gay court-poet, Fearfulbore,

Should sit in the hall when the hunt was o’er,

And chant me songs of silvery tone,

Not from Hafiz, but—mine own!

Ah, wee sweet love, beside me here,

I am not the Sultan Gingerbeer,

Nor you the odalisque Dandeline,

Yet I am yourn, and you are mine!