William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920.

To a Persian Manuscript

BEHIND the high white wall

There is always a garden—

A lawn, close-clipped and pale,

Studded with flowers;

There they have placed a chair

For the happy guest,

And slim high-bosomed maidens

Bring flesh and figs and wine

In bowls of peacock blue.

Beyond the minaretted gate

Go elephants in caravan,

And horsemen ride through forest tracery

Of gold and flowers

To cities

Arched and white against the sky.

These are windows

Opening on a golden world—

Blooming-islands on a sea

Of dim, dust colored vellum,

While the ripples—

Painted rhythms,

Sable characters—

Bear challenge to the wit

More potent still

Than half-guessed imagery

Of illumined page.

And as the traveller without the wall

Divines with thirsty heart

The hidden flash of fountains,

So to me, among these silent books,

Is borne the cadence of a desert tongue,

And beauty blossoms here

Upon my knees.

The Nation