148
GRAINS OF SAND
To-morrow when the camels rise to take their wooden crates
Out to the shimmering desert line-the "thirst of the gazette"—
Will that rich palankeen jolt through the frowning city gates
To-morrow, when the dawning paints with amethyst the well?
Or will it sway—an empty nest—from one white bird's release
Who scents some hungry bearded lip with musks and ambergris?
Out to the shimmering desert line-the "thirst of the gazette"—
Will that rich palankeen jolt through the frowning city gates
To-morrow, when the dawning paints with amethyst the well?
Or will it sway—an empty nest—from one white bird's release
Who scents some hungry bearded lip with musks and ambergris?
And will the orange sackcloth screen sway gently in the breeze,
While flies upon the melons pounce to drink the sugared sap?
Will that poor seller cry his fruits beyond the clustering trees,
With furtive counting of the gold chance poured into his lap,
And fear he never felt before for every stranger's hand,
While ever from the desert blow the glittering grains of sand?
While flies upon the melons pounce to drink the sugared sap?
Will that poor seller cry his fruits beyond the clustering trees,
With furtive counting of the gold chance poured into his lap,
And fear he never felt before for every stranger's hand,
While ever from the desert blow the glittering grains of sand?
Or will the scattered melons fall to rot upon the ground—
No luscious reds and greens again to tempt the caravan—
The sackcloth tent a coverlid for bridal sleep be found,
Or hide beneath its orange folds the body of a man?
(Thought on its racing camel goes so wildly and so fleet
Because a melon-seller wears red slippers on his feet!)
No luscious reds and greens again to tempt the caravan—
The sackcloth tent a coverlid for bridal sleep be found,
Or hide beneath its orange folds the body of a man?
(Thought on its racing camel goes so wildly and so fleet
Because a melon-seller wears red slippers on his feet!)
