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“His amaranths: a fond conceit,
Yes, last illusion of retreat!
Short measure 'tis.” “And yet enough,”
Said Derwent; “'tis a hopeful song;
Or, if part sad, not less adorning,
Like purple in a royal mourning.
We debtors be. Now come along
To table, we'll take no rebuff.”
So Vine sat down among them then—
Adept—shy prying into men.
Yes, last illusion of retreat!
Short measure 'tis.” “And yet enough,”
Said Derwent; “'tis a hopeful song;
Or, if part sad, not less adorning,
Like purple in a royal mourning.
We debtors be. Now come along
To table, we'll take no rebuff.”
362
Adept—shy prying into men.
Derwent here wheeled him: “But for sake
Of conscience, noble Arnaut, tell;
When now I as from dream awake
It just dawns on me: how is this?
Wine-bibbing? No! that kind of bliss
Your Koran bars. And Belex, man,
Thou'st smoked before the sun low fell;
And this month's what? your Ramadan?
May true believers thus rebel?”
Of conscience, noble Arnaut, tell;
When now I as from dream awake
It just dawns on me: how is this?
Wine-bibbing? No! that kind of bliss
Your Koran bars. And Belex, man,
Thou'st smoked before the sun low fell;
And this month's what? your Ramadan?
May true believers thus rebel?”
Good sooth, did neither know to tell,
Or care to know, what time did fall
The Islam fast; yet took it so
As Derwent roguish prompted, though
It was no Ramadan at all;
'Twas far ahead, a movable fast
Of lunar month, which to forecast
Needs reckoning.
Ponderous pause
The Anak made: “Mahone has laws,
And Allah's great—of course:—forefend!
Ho, rouse a stave, and so an end:
Or care to know, what time did fall
The Islam fast; yet took it so
As Derwent roguish prompted, though
It was no Ramadan at all;
'Twas far ahead, a movable fast
Of lunar month, which to forecast
Needs reckoning.
Ponderous pause
The Anak made: “Mahone has laws,
And Allah's great—of course:—forefend!
Ho, rouse a stave, and so an end:
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