The Sultan’s Palace
I have roamed far in search; white road and plunging bow Were keys in the blue doors where my desire was set; Obedient to their lure, my lips and laughing brow The hill-showers and the spray of many seas have wet.
The flowers in the fields, the surf upon the sands, The sunset and the clouds it turned to blood and wine, Were shreds of the thin veil behind whose beaded strands A radiant visage rose, serene, august, divine.
A noise of summer wind astir in starlit trees, A song where sensual love’s delirium rose and fell, Were rites that moved my soul more than the devotee’s When from the blazing choir rings out the altar bell.
Their robes and rings were mine to draw from shimmering trays— Brocades and broidered silks, topaz and tourmaline— Their turban-cloths to wind in proud capricious ways, And fasten plumes and pearls and pendent sapphires in.
I rose; far music drew my steps in fond pursuit Down tessellated floors and towering peristyles: Through groves of colonnades fair lamps were blushing fruit, On seas of green mosaic soft rugs were flowery isles.
And there were verdurous courts that scalloped arches wreathed, Where fountains plashed in bowls of lapis lazuli. Through enigmatic doors voluptuous accents breathed, And having Youth I had their Open Sesame.
I paused where shadowy walls were hung with cloths of gold, And tinted twilight streamed through storied panes above. In lamplit alcoves deep as flowers when they unfold Soft cushions called to rest and fragrant fumes to love.
I hungered; at my hand delicious dainties teemed— Fair pyramids of fruit; pastry in sugared piles. I thirsted; in cool cups inviting vintage beamed— Sweet syrups from the South; brown muscat from the isles.
Joy, that where summer seas and hot horizons shone Had been the outspread arms I gave my youth to seek, Drew near; awhile its pulse strove sweetly with my own, Awhile I felt its breath astir upon my cheek.
Flowerlike I hope to die as flowerlike was my birth. Rooted in Nature’s just benignant law like them, I want no better joys than those that from green Earth My spirit’s blossom drew through the sweet body’s stem.
Unto the fields and flowers this flesh I found so fair I yield; do you, dear friend, over your rose-crowned wine, Murmur my name some day as though my lips were there, And frame your mouth as though its blushing kiss were mine.
Yea, where the banquet-hall is brilliant with young men, You whose bright youth it might have thrilled my breast to know, Drink … and perhaps my lips, insatiate even then Of lips to hang upon, may find their loved ones so.