And dear old Dick gathered speed and said: "Sometimes through Dvorák a vision arises To the words of Merneptah whose hands were red: 'I shall live, I shall live, I shall grow, I shall grow, I shall wake up in peace, I shall thrill with the glow Of the life of Temu, the god who prizes Favorite souls and the souls of kings.' Now these are the words, and here is the dream, No wonder you think I am seeing things: The desert of Egypt shimmers in the gleam Of the noonday sun on my dazzled sight. And a giant negro as black as night Is walking by a camel in a caravan. His great back glistens with the streaming sweat. The camel is ridden by a light-faced man, A Greek perhaps, or Arabian. And this giant negro is rhythmically swaying With the rhythm of the camel's neck up and down. He seems to be singing, rollicking, playing; His ivory teeth are glistening, the Greek is listening To the negro keeping time like a tabouret. And what cares he for Memphis town, Merneptah the bloody, or Books of the Dead, Pyramids, philosophies of madness or dread? A tune is in his heart, a reality: The camel, the desert are things that be, He's a negro slave, but his heart is free." Just then the colored waiter brought in the dinner. "Get a hustle on you, you miserable sinner," Said dear old Dick to the colored waiter. "Heah's a nice piece of beef and a great big potato. I hopes yo'll enjoy 'em sah, yas I do; Heah's black mustahd greens, 'specially for yo', And a fine piece of jowl that I swiped and took From a dish set by, by the git-away cook. I hope yo'll enjoy 'em, sah, yas I do." "Well, George," Dick said, "if Gabriel blew His horn this minute, you'd up and ascend To wait on St. Peter world without end." THE ROOM OF MIRRORS I saw a room where many feet were dancing. The ceiling and the wall were mirrors glancing Both flames of candles and the heaven's light, Though windows there were none for air or flight. The room was in a form polygonal Reached by a little door and narrow hall. One could behold them enter for the dance, And waken as it were out of a trance, And either singly or with some one whirl: The old, the young, full livers, boy and girl. And every panel of the room was just A mirrored door through which a hand was thrust Here, there, around the room, a soul to seize Whereat a scream would rise, but no surcease Of music or of dancing, save by him Drawn through the mirrored panel to the dim And unknown space behind the flashing mirrors, And by his partner struck through by the terrors Of sudden loss.