Page:Poems Forrest.djvu/19

III

Now we are in an audience hall,
 A throne with peacock feathers drest;
A little bundle of a king,
 His silly head sunk to his breast;
His beard is dyed a royal blonde,
And emerald and diamond
Set his great turban all ablaze.
 He sucks a water pipe and sighs,
The slender girl against his knee
 Looks down with murder in her eyes;
'While one who stands behind the throne
Spits envies of a queen o'erthrown.

A messenger, who entered in
 With panting breath, salaamed and laid
On cushions at the monarch's feet,
 A heavy bag of rich brocade.
A greeting he had carried far,
By jungle ways, 'neath sum and star.
Past brakes where hungry tigers lay,
 Past creepered trails where pythons hang,
Thro' mist-choked passes of the hills,
 Down valleys where the locust sang;
Salute from his high lord to bring,
And beg a favour of the King,

Who yawns and blinks and nods his head.
 The Favourite crouching at his feet,
She eyes the messenger, and he
 Gives back her glances, more discreet,
Conveying, between naked toes,
A folded paper. How she glows,
As, bending on some swift pretence,
 She slips it in her purple sash!