NEAR strange, weird temples, where the Ganges' tide Bathes domed Lahore, I watched, by spice-trees fanned, Her agile form in some quaint saraband, A marvel of passionate chastity and pride. Nude to the loins, superb and leopard-eyed, With fragrant roses in her jewelled hand, Before some Kaat-drunk Rajah, mute and grand, Her flexile body bends, her white feet glide. The dull Kinoors throb one monotonous tune, And wail with zeal as in a hasheesh trance; Her scintillant eyes in vague, ecstatic charm Burn like black stars below the Orient moon, While the suave, dreamy languor of the dance Lulls the grim, drowsy cobra on her arm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MOTHER NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE STIRRUP-CUP by LOUIS UNTERMEYER AT SUNSET TIME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LET THE LIGHT ENTER (THE DYING WORDS OF GOETHE) by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS by FRANCIS HOPKINSON |