  Once in my way an Arab story came Relating how a poet, drugged with wine, Watched from the tavern door where the divine Pale moon lit all the sky with silver flame; And crying, ‘By Allah’s eternal name, I swear that argent splendour shall be mine!’ Leaped, clutching at the sky, and rolled supine A muddy rascal, steeped in mire and shame. This is our common madness. Am not I Moon-haunted by thy beauty? Yet I stand No farther from the empress of the sky Than from one touch of thy all-conquering hand; And though my songs made all the heavens sigh, I know you will not pity, nor understand. |
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