We will leave reason, Sweet, for a season; Reason were treason Now that the nether s.p.a.ces are clad, oh, In silvery shadow-- We will be glad, oh, Glad as this weather!

_She, responding to his mood:_

Heart unto heart, where the moonlight is slanted, Let us believe that our souls are enchanted:-- I in the castle-keep; you are the airy Prince who comes seeking me; Love is the Fairy Bringing our hearts together.

HE

Starlight in ma.s.ses Over us pa.s.ses; And in the gra.s.s is Many a flower: Now will you tell me How'd you enspell me?

What once befell me There in your bower?

SHE

Soul unto soul--in the moon's wizard glory, Let us believe we are parts in a story:-- I am a poem; a poet you hear it Whispered in star and in flower; a Spirit, Love, puts my soul in your power.

10

_He, suddenly and very earnestly:_

Perhaps we lived in the days Of the Khalif Haroun er Reshid; And loved, as the story says Did the Sultan's favorite one And the Persian Emperor's son, Ali ben Bekkar, he Of the Kisra dynasty.

Do you know the story?--Well, You were Haroun's Sultana.

When night on the palace fell, A slave through a secret door,-- Low-arched on the Tigris' sh.o.r.e,-- By a hidden winding stair Brought me to your bower there.

Then there was laughter and mirth, And feasting and singing together, In a chamber of wonderful worth; In a chamber vaulted high On columns of ivory; Its dome, like the irised skies, Mooned over with peac.o.c.k eyes; Its curtains and furniture, Damask and juniper.

Ten slave girls--like unto blooms-- Stand, holding tamarisk torches, Silk-clad from the Irak looms; Ten handmaidens serve the feast, Each girl like a star in the east; Ten lutanists, lutes a-tune, Wait, each like the Ramadan moon.

For you in a stuff of Merv Blue-clad, unveiled and jewelled, No metaphor known may serve: Scarved deep with your raven hair, The jewels like fireflies there, Blossom and moon and star, The Lady Shemsennehar.

The zone that girdles your waist Would ransom a Prince and Emeer; In your coronet's gold enchased, And your bracelet's twisted bar, Burn rubies of Istakhar; And pearls of the Jamshid race Hang looped on your bosom's lace.

You stand like the letter I; Dawn-faced, with eyes that sparkle Black stars in a rosy sky; Mouth like a cloven peach, Sweet with your smiling speech; Cheeks that the blood presumes To make pomegranate blooms.

With roses of Rocknabad, Hyacinths of Bokhara,-- Creamily cool and clad In gauze,--girls scatter the floor From pillar to cedarn door.

Then a poppy-bloom at each ear, Come the dancing girls of Kashmeer.

Kohl in their eyes, down the room,-- That opaline casting-bottles Have showered with rose perfume,-- They glitter and drift and swoon To the dulcimer's languishing tune; In the liquid light like stars, And moons and nenuphars.

Carbuncles, tragacanth-red, Smoulder in armlet and anklet; Gleaming on breast and on head Bangles of coins, that are angled, Tinkle; and veils, that are spangled, Flutter from coiffure and wrist Like a star-bewildered mist.

Each dancing-girl is a flower Of the Tuba from vales of El Liwa.-- How the bronzen censers glower!

And scents of ambergris pour And myrrh brought of Lah.o.r.e, And musk of Khoten! how good Is the scent of the sandal-wood!

A lutanist smites her lute; Sings loves of Mejnoon and Leila-- Her voice is a houri flute;-- While the fragrant flambeaux wave Barbaric o'er free and slave, O'er fabrics and bezels of gems And roses in anadems.

Sherbets in ewers of gold, Fruits in salvers carnelian; Flagons of grotesque mold, Made of a sapphire gla.s.s, Brimmed with wine of Shiraz; Shaddock and melon and grape On plate of an antique shape.

Vases of frosted rose, Of limpid alabaster, Filled with the mountain snows; Goblets of mother-of-pearl, One filigree silver-swirl; Vessels of gold foamed up With spray of spar on the cup.

Then a slave bursts in with a cry: "The eunuchs! the Khalif's eunuchs!-- With scimitars bared draw nigh!

Wesif and Afif and he, Chief of the hideous three, Mesrour!--the Sultan's seen 'Mid a hundred weapons' sheen!"

Did we part when we heard this? No!

It seems that my soul remembers How I clasped you and kissed you, so.

When they came they found us--dead On the flowers our blood dyed red; Our lips together, and The dagger in my hand.

11

_She, musingly:_

How it was I cannot tell, For I know not where nor why; But perhaps we loved too well In some world that does not lie East or west of where we dwell, And beneath no mortal sky.

Was it in the golden ages Or the iron?--I had heard,-- In the prophecy of sages,-- Haply, how had come a bird, Underneath whose wing were pages Of an unknown lover's word.

I forget. You may remember How the earthquake shook our ships; How our city, one huge ember, Blazed within the thick eclipse.

When you found me--deep December Sealed my icy eyes and lips.

I forget. No one may say That such things can not be true:-- Here a flower dies to-day, And to-morrow blooms anew....

Death is silent.--Tell me, pray, Why men doubt what G.o.d can do?

12

_He, with conviction._

As to that, nothing to tell, You being all my belief; Doubt may not enter or dwell Here where your image is chief; Here where your name is a spell, Potent in joy and in grief.

Is it the glamor of spring Working in us so we seem Aye to have loved? that we cling Even to some fancy or dream, Rainbowing everything Here in our souls with its gleam?

See! how the synod is met There of the heavens to preach us-- Freed from the earth's...o...b..iette, See how the blossoms beseech us-- Were it not well to forget Winter and night as they teach us?

Dew and a bud and a star, These,--like a beautiful thought, Over man's wisdom how far!-- G.o.d for some purpose has wrought; And though they're that which they are, What are the thoughts they have brought?

Stars and the moon; and they roll Over our way that is white.

Here shall we end the long stroll?

Here shall I kiss you good-night?

Or, for a while, soul to soul, Linger and dream of delight?

13

_They enter the garden again.... She, somewhat pensively._

Myths tell of walls and cities that arose To melody. But I would build with tone, Had I that harp, a world for us alone, A world of love, and joy, and deep repose.

A land of lavender light, of blue-bell skies; Pale peaks that rise against the gold of eve; And on one height, the splendors never leave, Our castled home o'er which the wild swan flies.