Once in my way an Arab story came
Relating how a poet, drugged with wine,
Watched from the tavern door where the divine
Pale moon lit all the sky with silver flame;
And crying, ‘By Allah’s eternal name,
I swear that argent splendour shall be mine!’
Leaped, clutching at the sky, and rolled supine
A muddy rascal, steeped in mire and shame.
This is our common madness. Am not I
Moon-haunted by thy beauty? Yet I stand
No farther from the empress of the sky
Than from one touch of thy all-conquering hand;
And though my songs made all the heavens sigh,
I know you will not pity, nor understand.