Voices and visions / by Clinton Scollard [electronic text]

THE MEADS OF BESSIMA

Once again to see them, ah, Matchless meads of Bessima!

BY fleet waters glancing golden, Girdled as with dream they lie, Where, by stainless skies beholden, They are stainless as the sky.

For while night, by Allah's guiding, Sows the blue with shimmering flowers, Here the day, through his confiding, Buildeth radiant blossom bowers.

Out of all the tints of morning,— Sunrise arras,—are they made; And they have for their adorning Arabesques of shine and shade.

Spicy asphodelian attars O'er them hover, and the breeze A divine nepenthe scatters From the poppy-chalices.

Here would I a House of Pleasure Rear, like fabled Kubla Khan; Love should be my chiefest treasure,— Love beyond the ken of man.

At my doorway, on his zither Should the gay cicada play; And the bee should bear me thither His full bass for virelay.

Wafted through the open lattice, There should falter, there should float, All the prisoned passion that is Cornpassed in the bulbul's note.

I should know,— fond vision this is! — Biding, Rose of Love, with you, All the Prophet's promised blisses At the bourn of Dreams-Come-True!