Color

A blue-black Nubian plucking oranges At Jaffa by a sea of malachite, In red tarboosh, green sash, and flowing white Burnous—among the shadowy memories That haunt me yet by these bleak northern seas He lives for ever in my eyes’ delight, Bizarre, superb in young immortal might— A god of old barbaric mysteries. Maybe he lived a life of lies and lust, Maybe his bones are now but scattered dust; Yet, for a moment he was life supreme Exultant and unchallenged: and my rhyme Would set him safely out of reach of time In that old heaven where things are what they seem.