Melek the sultan, tired and wan, <br />Nodded at noon on the divan. <br /> <br />Beside the fountain lingered near <br />Jamil the bard, and the vizier --- <br /> <br />Old Yusuf, cross and hard to please; <br />Then Jamil sang, in words like these: <br /> <br />Slim is Butheina -- slim is she <br />As boughs of the Araka-tree! <br /> <br />'Nay,' quoth the other, teeth between, <br />'Learn, if you will -- I call her lean.' <br /> <br />Sweet is Butheina -- sweet as wine, <br />With smiles that like red bubbles shine! <br /> <br />'True. -- by the Prophet!' Yusuf said. <br />'She makes men wander in the head!' <br /> <br />Dear is Butheina -- ah! more dear <br />Than all the maidens of Kashmeer! <br /> <br />'Dear,' came the answer, quick as thought, <br />'Dear . . and yet always to be bought.' <br /> <br />So Jamil ceased. But still Life's page <br />Shows diverse unto Youth and Age: <br /> <br />And, be the song of Ghouls or Gods, <br />Time, like the Sultan, sits . . and nods.<br /><br />Henry Austin Dobson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-persian-apologue-2/
