THE BANQUET

WINE ran; rich yellow wine upon the marble floor

Recklessly spilled; the Nubians ran to pour

A fresh libation; and to scatter showers

Of red rose petals; candles overturned

Smouldered among the ruins of the flowers,

And overhead swung heavy shadowy bowers

Of blue and purple grapes,

And strange fantastic shapes

Of varied birds, where lanterns hung and dimly burned.

The melon and the orange, turned to use

As golden balls with laughter lightly tossed,

Lay burst and drained of their sweet juice,

Uselessly ripened and for ever lost;

All glowing as they lay upon the ground,

As envious of their fellows,

Who, piled in luscious reds and yellows,

Enriched the tables all around,

The tables low,

Sheltering the reclining grace;

Here, through the curling smoke, a swarthy face,

And jewelled turban bound about the head,

And here the glow

Of red carnation pressed to lips as warmly red.

And as they lay in their luxurious ease,

Playing with grapes and rose-leaves, slim

And willowy slave-girls, in the hope to please,

Twisted and danced before them, to the dim

Uncertain music in the shadows played;

Some came with supple limb,

With Mystery's aid

And snake-like creep,

Others with riotous leap

And made festivity to Bacchus wed;

Others with stiff Egyptian tread,

And straight black hair hanging in glossy braid,

They danced, unnoted, and exhausted fled.

Still floated from beneath the acacia-tree

The droning Eastern music's minor key.