Our spires stand up against the saffron dawn
And Isis breaks in silver at the prow
Of many a skiff, and by each dewy lawn
Purple and gold the tall flag-lilies stand;
And SHELLEY sleeps above his empty tomb
Hard by the staircase where you had your room,
And all the scented lilacs are in bloom,
But you are far from this our fairy-land.

Your heavy wheel disturbs the ancient dust
Of empires dead ere Oxford saw the light.
Those flies that form a halo round your crust
And crawl into your sleeping-bag at night--
Their grandsires drank the blood of NADIR SHAH,
And tapped the sacred veins of SULEYMAN;
There flashed dread TIMOUR'S whistling yataghan,
And soothed the tiger ear of GENGHIZ KHAN
The cream of Tartary's battle-drunk "Heiyah!"

And yonder, mid the colour and the cries
Of mosque and minaret and thronged bazaars
And fringed palm-trees dark against the skies
HARUN AL RASCHID walked beneath the stars
And heard the million tongues of old Baghdad,
Till out of Basrah, as the dawn took wing,
Came up the laden camels, string on string;
But now there is not left them anything
Of all the wealth and wisdom that they had.

Somehow I cannot see you, lean and browned,