II

Anight my shallop, rustling through

The low and blooméd foliage, drove

The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove

The citronshadows in the blue:

By gardenporches on the brim,

The costly doors flung open wide,

Gold glittering through lamplight dim,

And broidered sophas on each side:

In sooth it was a goodly time,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.