AN EASTERN APOLOGUE (TO E. H. P.) MELIK the Sultán, tired and wan, Nodded at noon on his diván. Beside the fountain lingered near Old Yusuf, sour and hard to please; Slim is Butheina-slim is she 'Nay," quoth the other, teeth between, "Lean, if you will, I call her lean." Sweet is Butheina-sweet as wine, "True, by the Prophet!" Yúsur said. "She makes men wander in the head!" Dear is Butheina-ah! more dear Than all the maidens of Kashmeer! "Dear," came the answer, quick as thought, "Dear and yet always to be bought." So JAMÍL ceased. But still Life's page Shows diverse unto YOUTH and AGE: And-be the song of ghouls or gods- TO A MISSAL OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY MISSAL of the Gothic age, Missal with the blazoned page, Whence, O Missal, hither come, From what dim scriptorium ? Whose the name that wrought thee thus, Bending, through the waning light, O'er thy vellum scraped and white; Weaving 'twixt thy rubric lines Sprays and leaves and quaint designs; Ah! a wondering brotherhood, Glad when his deft hand would paint Strife of Sathanas and Saint, Or in secret coign entwist Jest of cloister humourist. Well the worker earned his wage, Not as ours the books of old- Then a book was still a Book, In that growth of day by day, Something that one still perceives A REVOLUTIONARY RELIC LD it is, and worn and battered, OLD As I lift it from the stall; And the leaves are frayed and tattered, And the pendent sides are shattered, Pierced and blackened by a ball. 'Tis the tale of grief and gladness And a perfume round it hovers, For a folded corner covers, As I read I marvel whether, In some pleasant old château, Once they read this book together, In the scented summer weather, With the shining Loire below? |