Classic Poem

HAREMWARDS

If the silvery mouth of night would come,
I should not hear the wail of babies,
the buzz of flies,
the seller of rugs in the market-place,
nor should I hear my own heart
saying over and over in my breast,
" You — you — you — "
I would chant to her
whose belly is like the moon in black waters,
who moves like the moon in black waters,
who sighs
bending over to touch the river.
Lest anyone hear what I tell her,
I would order the musicians
to beat softly on their drums.