A CERTAIN Pasha, dead these thousand years, Once from his harem fled in sudden tears, And had this sentence on the city's gate Deeply engraven, "Only God is great." So those four words above the city's noise Hung like the accents of an angel's voice, And evermore, from the high barbacan, Saluted each returning caravan. Lost is that city's glory. Every gust Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown Pasha's dust. And all is ruin -- save one wrinkled gate Whereon is written, "Only God is great." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT TRANSHISTORICAL DEATH, OR AT LEAST NOT QUITE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SITTING by CECIL DAY LEWIS FRAGMENTS WRITTEN WHILE TRAVELING...A MIDWESTERN HEAT WAVE by JAMES GALVIN FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |