TIGRIS WAY
159
At times they seemed like negros' feet that padded on the sand;
Sometimes there came a flick of light, as from a jewelled hand,
Or else the blue fire of a knife. Yet where the palm fronds sigh
And whisper "Treachery" to the wind that trails its perfumes by,
Sometimes there came a flick of light, as from a jewelled hand,
Or else the blue fire of a knife. Yet where the palm fronds sigh
And whisper "Treachery" to the wind that trails its perfumes by,
I knew, by heavy harem walls that will no secrets tell,
Within the silence of your heart that knife was hidden well.
Drip! Was that water on a stone? Does water fall like blood?
Some crane perhaps, that came to drink along the sallow flood,
Within the silence of your heart that knife was hidden well.
Drip! Was that water on a stone? Does water fall like blood?
Some crane perhaps, that came to drink along the sallow flood,
Shook silver scatter from its wing and let the cool drops fall
For earth to drink, like other drops that fell behind a wall.
As I came down the Tigris way a comrade rode with me,
A blue-eyed Celt whose home was made beside a northern sea;
For earth to drink, like other drops that fell behind a wall.
As I came down the Tigris way a comrade rode with me,
A blue-eyed Celt whose home was made beside a northern sea;
And in the yellow of the noon, and in the white moon's shine,
His shadow on the desert sands played hob-and-nob with mine.
As I rode down the Tigris way-a hunted thing and banned-
My comrade rode with me, but left no shadow on the sand!
His shadow on the desert sands played hob-and-nob with mine.
As I rode down the Tigris way-a hunted thing and banned-
My comrade rode with me, but left no shadow on the sand!
