The Poet's Mistake

"O grim and ghastly Mussulman, Why art thou wailing so? Is there a pain within thy brain, Or in thy little toe? The twilight shades are shutting fast The golden gates of Day, Then shut up, too, your hullabaloo,—- Or what's the matter, say!"

That stern and sombre Mussulman, He heeded not my speech, But raised again his howl of pain,— A most unearthly screech! "He dies!"—I thought, and forthwith rushed To aid the wretched man, When, with a shout, he yell'd—"Get out! I'm singing the Koran!"