Chasing the swart Osmanli through the scrub
Or hauling railroad ties and "steel mild round"
Sunk in the sands of Irak to the hub,
Heaping coarse oaths on Mesopotamy;
But rather strewn in gentlemanly ease
In some cool _serdab_ or beneath the trees
That fringe the river-bank you hug your knees
And watch the garish East go chattering by.

And at your side some wise old priest reclines
And weaves a tale of dead and glorious days
When MAMUN reigned; expounds the heavenly signs
Whose movements fix the span of mortal days;
Touches on Afreets and the ways of Djinns;
Through his embroidered tale real heroes pass,
RUSTUM the bold and BAHRAM the wild ass,
Who never dreamed of using poisoned gas
Or spread barbed wire before the foeman's shins.

I think I hear you saying, "Not so much
Of waving palm-trees and the flight of years;
It's evident that you are out of touch
With war as managed by the Engineers.
Hot blasts of _sherki_ are our daily treat,
And toasted sandhills full of Johnny Turk
And almost anything that looks like work,
And thirst and flies and marches that would irk
A cast-iron soldier with asbestos feet."

Know, then, the thought was fathered by the wish