May the clouds of dawn keep green thy grave with unfailing showers.... My camel fled when she spied the cairn on the stony waste, Built over one who was free of hand, most quick to give. Start not, O camel! for sure no shape to be shunned was he-- A carouser mirthful, a mighty stirrer of battle-flame. Long is my way, and the thirsty desert before me lies, Else here for thee she had fallen, butchered to feast thy friends.[1] [Footnote 1: C. J. Lyall's version, as given in his admirable _Translations of Ancient Arabian Poetry_ (London: 1885).] End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Leaves from the Diary of an Impressionist, by Lafcadio Hearn