The Tiger-Lily

Tall in his tawny turban, A sultan 'mid his bands, In my garden, old and urban, The tiger-lily stands.

The poppies there that glisten, Whose gaudy garments glow, Are eunuchs who guard and listen Round his seraglio

Of roses, myrrhed and musky; Some whiter than a dove, And others, deep and dusky, His odalisks of love.

Circassian-white and slender, His dancing-girls and slaves, To the August-lilies tender, His haughty hand he waves.

While he watches them, nothing missing, In her bower of bloom on high, His favorite rose is kissing A Bedouin butterfly.