XII.
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ow when Salámán's Heart turn'd to Absál,Her Star was happy in the Heavens—Old LovePut forth afresh—Desire doubled his Bond:And of the running Time she watch'd an HourTo creep into the Mansion of her MoonAnd satiate her soul upon his Lips.And the Hour came; she stole into his Chamber—Ran up to him, Life's offer in her Hand—And, falling like a Shadow at his Feet,She laid her Face beneath. Salámán thenWith all the Courtesies of Princely GracePut forth his Hand—he rais'd her in his Arms—He held her trembling there—and from that FountDrew first Desire; then Deeper from her Lips,That, yielding, mutually drew from hisA Wine that ever drawn from never fail'd— So through the Day—so through another still—The Day became a Seventh—the Seventh a Moon—The Moon a Year—while they rejoiced together,Thinking their pleasure never was to end.But rolling Heaven whisper'd from his Ambush,"So in my License is it not set down.Ah for the sweet Societies I makeAt Morning and before the Nightfall break;Ah for the Bliss that with the Setting SunI mix, and, with his Rising, all is done!" Into Bagdad came a hungryArab—after many days of waitingIn to the Khalífah's SupperPush'd, and got before a PastyLuscious as the Lip of Beauty,Or the Tongue of Eloquence.Soon as seen, Indecent HungerSeizes up and swallows down;Then his mouth undaunted wiping—"Oh Khalífah, hear me Swear,Not of any other PastyThan of Thine to sup or dine."The Khalífah laugh'd and answer'd;"Fool; who thinkest to determineWhat is in the Hands of Fate—Take and thrust him from the Gate!"
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