I. WHEN all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wizard-work of silver lace, I draw my sofa on the rug Before the ancient chimney-place. Upon the painted tiles are mosques And minarets, and here and there A blind muezzin lifts his hands And calls the faithful unto prayer. Folded in idle, twilight dreams, I hear the hemlock chirp and sing As if within its ruddy core It held the happy heart of Spring. Ferdousi never sang like that, Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay: I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke, And watch them rise and float away. II. The curling wreaths like turbans seem Of silent slaves that come and go -- Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime, Whom I behead from time to time, With pipe-stem, at a single blow. And now and then a lingering cloud Takes gracious form at my desire, And at my side my lady stands, Unwinds her veil with snowy hands -- A shadowy shape, a breath of fire! O Love, if you were only here Beside me in this mellow light, Though all the bitter winds should blow, And all the ways be choked with snow, 'T would be a true Arabian night! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IDAHO EGG WOMAN by KAREN SWENSON LESSER EPISTLES: TO A LADY ON HER PASSION FOR OLD CHINA by JOHN GAY SONNET TO A CLAM by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER by JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND SPIRITUAL WORSHIP by BERNARD BARTON A SONG OF APPLE-BLOOM by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |