QUEEN DJENIRA

When Queen Djenira slumbers through

The sultry noon's repose,

From out her dreams, as soft she lies,

A faint thin music flows.

Her lovely hands lie narrow and pale

With gilded nails, her head

Couched in its handed nets of gold

Lies pillowed on her bed.

The little Nubian boys who fan

Her cheeks and tresses clear,

Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful voices

Seem afar to hear.

They slide their eyes, and nodding, say,

“Queen Djenira walks to-day

The courts of the lord Pthamasar

Where the sweet birds of Psuthys are.”

And those of earth about her porch

Of shadow cool and grey

Their sidelong beaks in silence lean,

And silent flit away.