I
Closer the curtain. Still the sun is flame,
And the sands metal, molten!
Ah, to lie
By the cool waters, breathing
The air that lifts the palm-fronds,
Hear my garden nightingale
Sing to the roses-
Clasp my Rose and Roses!

II
Hasten your speed, O weary Camel-driver!
There is a catch in the bells, a lull, a drift to silence;
Night will be here,
Heavy the way,
Far lies the City-
Far!
And the gates close, Hassan.

III
Strange was my dream mirage, of many scenes,
And in them I
I would not greatly care
Again to dream, Hassan,
Or to my Shadows:
Tho by the Prophet, man, fair foe I was,
My fights with equal odds!

IV
O my Saharan dawns,
Catching the fires at the horizon's edge
And flaming to the zenith!
Great moons that blurred the stars-
Silver above,
Silver beneath,
A Sea of silver whose vast waves
Broke into silver foam-
And stillness-stillness-stillness, that was prayer!
V
My Mare, Hassan!
Nay, bring her-I would see,
Would feel her nostrils nuzzle to my hand.
O my Delight! My Wonderful!
Bird of the Desert! Wings of the Winds of flight! . .
Mind you the great simoom?
She sheltered me-tho, by the Crescent, we
Had like to be one mound.

How does the Arab love?
First, aye, the Prophet, spiritually!
His son: he transmits his name;
His bride: be sure, the last;
His steed-I do think Hassen,
That ranks him next the Prophet!
Dah-ma, she is your care-
Let her lack nothing, least of all-love. . .
And. . .Hassan. . .
Not miss me overmuch.

VI
Why stilled the Camel bells, my Camel-driver?
Not stilled? The City near? . . .
Fling wide the curtains!
Lift me, that I see
The sunset blazing upon tower and dome,
Hear the muezzin from his minaret-
‘A-l-l-a-h-‘i-l-A-l-l-a-h' …
Are the Gates wide, Hassan?