The Mameluke

I     She was a queen. 'Midst mutes and slaves,     A mameluke, he loved her. -    - Waves     Dashed not more hopelessly the paves     Of her high marble palace-stair     Than lashed his love his heart's despair. -     As souls in Hell dream Paradise,     He suffered yet forgot it there     Beneath Rommaneh's houri eyes. II     With passion eating at his heart     He served her beauty, but dared dart     No amorous glance, nor word impart. -     Tafi leather's perfumed tan     Beneath her, on a low divan     She lay 'mid cushions stuffed with down:     A slave-girl with an ostrich fan     Sat by her in a golden gown. III     She bade him sing.    Fair lutanist,     She loved his voice.    With one white wrist,     Hooped with a blaze of amethyst,     She raised her ruby-crusted lute:     Gold-welted stuff, like some rich fruit,     Her raiment, diamond-showered, rolled     Folds pigeon-purple, whence one foot     Drooped in an anklet-twist of gold. IV     He stood and sang with all the fire     That boiled within his blood's desire,     That made him all her slave yet higher:     And at the end his passion durst     Quench with one burning kiss its thirst. -     O eunuchs, did her face show scorn     When through his heart your daggers burst?     And dare ye say he died forlorn?