Zorah

An Arab beats upon a kettle drum, And tuneless is the wailing of the flutes As on the sands a slavegirl executes Her dance of wantonwild delirium; Her body swaying like a pendulum Backwards and forwards, while in evolutes She weaves and weaves before fierce pagan brutes Who gaze at her in wonder that is dumb. I look upon her limbs bronzed by the sun, And see within her eyes strange caravans, Marching all day across blank desert lands, Until they come at night to where in rings The Nomad fires glimmer, one by one, around the tombs of longforgotten kings.