I dreamed the play was real. I walked into the screen. Like Alice through the looking-glass, I found a curious scene. The black stones took on flame. The shadows shone with eyes. The colors poured and changed In a Hell’s debauch of dyes, In a street with incense thick, In a court of witch-bazars, With flambeaux by the stalls Whose splutter hid the stars. Camels stalked in line. Courtezans tripped by Dressed in silks and gems, Copper diadems, All the wealth they had. [Sidenote: _This refrain to be elaborately articulated and the instrumental music then made to match it precisely._] _Oh quivering lights,_ _Arabian Nights!_ _Bagdad,_ _Bagdad!_ You were a guarded girl In a palanquin of gold. I was buying figs: All my hands could hold. You slipped a note to me. Your eyes made me your slave. “Twelve paces back,” you wrote. No other word gave. The delicate dove house swayed Close-veiled, a snare most sweet. “Joy” said the silver bells On the palanquin-bearers’ feet. Then by a mosque, a dervish Yelled and whirled like mad. _Oh quivering lights, Arabian Nights! Bagdad, Bagdad!_ I reached a dim, still court. I saw you there afar, Beckoning from the roof, Veiled, a cloud-wrapped star. And your black slave said: “Proud boy, Do you dare everything With your young arm and bright steel? Then climb. You are her king.” And I heard a hiss of knives In the doorway dark and bad. _Oh quivering lights, Arabian Nights! Bagdad, Bagdad!_ The stairway climbed and climbed. It spoke. It shouted lies. I reached a tar-black room, A panther’s belly gloom, Filled with howls and sighs. I found the roof. Twelve kings Rose up to stab me there. But I sent them to their graves. My singing shook the air. My scimitar seemed more Than any steel could be, A whirling wheel, a pack Of death-hounds guarding me. And then you came like May. You bound my torn breast well With your discarded veil. And flowery silence fell. While Mohammed spread his wings In the stars, you bent me back, With a quick kiss touched my mouth, And my heart was on the rack. Oh dreadful, deathless love! Oh kiss of Islam fire. And your flashing hands were more Than all a thief’s desire. [Sidenote: _The morning after is always noted in the Arabian Nights._] I woke by twelve dead curs On bloody, stony ground. And the grey watch muttered “shame,” As he tottered on his round. You had written on my sword:-- “Goodby, O iron arm. I love you much too well To do you further harm. And as my pledge and sign You are in crimson clad.” _Oh quivering lights, Arabian Nights! Bagdad, Bagdad!_ * * * * * * * * * *