e the
spirit of the dew.

_CHRIST THE COMRADE_

Christ, by thine own darkened hour
Live within my heart and brain!
Let my hands not slip the rein.

Ah, how long ago it is
Since a comrade rode with me!
Now a moment let me see

Thyself, lonely in the dark,
Perfect, without wound or mark.

_ARAB SONGS (I)_

Saadi the Poet stood up and he put forth his
living words.
His songs were the hurtling of spears and
his figures the flashing of swords.
With hearts dilated our tribe saw the creature
of Saadi's mind;
It was like to the horse of a king, a creature
of fire and of wind.

Umimah my loved one was by me: without
love did these eyes see my fawn,
And if fire there were in her being, for me
its splendour had gone;
When the sun storms up on the tent, he makes
waste the fire of the grass--
It was thus with my loved one's beauty: the
splendour of song made it pass.

The desert, the march, and the onset--these
and these only avail,
Hands hard with the handling of spear-shafts,
brows white with the press of the mail!
And as for the kisses of women--these are
honey, the poet sings;
But the honey of kisses, beloved, it is lime
for the spirit's wings.

_ARAB SONGS (II)_

_The poet reproaches those who have affronted him_.

Ye know not why God hath joined the horse
fly unto the horse
Nor why the generous steed is yoked with
the poisonous fly:
Lest the steed should sink into ease and lose
his fervour of nerve
God hath appointed him this: a lustful and
venomous bride.

Never supine lie they, the steeds of our folk,
to the sting,
Praying for deadness of nerve, their wounds
the shame of the sun;
They strive, but they strive for this: the fullness
of passionate nerve;
They pant, but they pant for this: the speed
that outstrips the pain.

Sons of the dust, ye have stung: there is
darkness upon my soul.
Sons of the dust, ye have stung: yea, stung
to the roots of my heart.
But I have said in my breast: the birth
succeeds to the pang,
And sons of the dust, behold, your malice
becomes my song.

* * * * *

SHANE LESLIE

_A DEAD FRIEND_ (_J.S._, 1905)

I drew him then unto my knee, my friend who
was dead,
And I set my live lips over his, and my heart
by his head.

I thought of an unrippled love and a passion
unsaid,
And the years he was living by me, my friend
who was dead;

And the whit