Classic Poem

I dreamed the play was real.
I walked into the screen.
Like Alice through the looking-glass,
I found a curious scene.
The black stones took on flame.
The shadows shone with eyes.
The colors poured and changed
In a Hell's debauch of dyes,
In a street with incense thick,
In a court of witch-bazaars,
With flambeaux by the stalls
Whose splutter hid the stars.
Camels stalked in line.
Courtezans tripped by
Dressed in silks and gems,
Copper diadems,
All the wealth they had.

Oh quivering lights,
Arabian Nights!
Bagdad,
Bagdad!

You were a guarded girl
In a palanquin of gold.
I was buying figs:
All my hands could hold.
You slipped a note to me.
Your eyes made me your slave.
" Twelve paces back, " you wrote.
No other word gave.
The delicate dove house swayed
Close-veiled, a snare most sweet.
" Joy, " said the silver bells
On the palanquin-bearers' feet.
Then by a mosque, a dervish
Yelled and whirled like mad.

Oh quivering lights,
Arabian Nights!
Bagdad,
Bagdad!

I reached a dim, still court.
I saw you there afar,
Beckoning from the roof,
Veiled, a cloud-wrapped star.
And your black slave said: " Proud boy,
Do you dare everything
With your young arm and bright steel?
Then climb. You are her king. "
And I heard a hiss of knives
In the doorway dark and bad.

Oh quivering lights,
Arabian Nights!
Bagdad,
Bagdad!

The stairway climbed and climbed.
It spoke. It shouted lies.
I reached a tar-black room,
A panther's belly gloom,
Filled with howls and sighs.
I found the roof. Twelve kings
Rose up to stab me there.
But I sent them to their graves.
My singing shook the air.
My scimitar seemed more
Than any steel could be,
A whirling wheel, a pack
Of death-hounds guarding me.
And then you came like May.
You bound my torn breast well
With your discarded veil.
And flowery silence fell.
While Mohammed spread his wings
In the stars, you bent me back,
With a quick kiss touched my mouth,
And my heart was on the rack.
Oh dreadful, deathless love!
Oh kiss of Islam fire.
And your flashing hands were more
Than all a thief's desire.

I woke by twelve dead curs
On bloody, stony ground.
And the gray watch muttered " shame "
As he tottered on his round.
You had written on my sword: —
" Goodby, O iron arm.
I love you much too well
To do you further harm.
And as my pledge and sign
You are in crimson clad. "

Oh quivering lights,
Arabian Nights!
Bagdad,
Bagdad!
...
...

The rocs scream in the air.
The ghouls my pathway clear.
For I have drunk the soul
Of the dazzling maid they fear.
The long handclasp you gave
Still shakes upon my hands.
O, daughter of a Jinn
I plot in Islam lands,
Haunting purple streets,
Hissing, snarling, bold,

A robber never jailed,
A beggar never cold.
I shall be sultan yet
In this old crimson clad.

Oh quivering lights,
Arabian Nights!
Bagdad,
Bagdad!