Mohammed and Seid

Swept by the hot wind, stark, untrackable, The stony desert stretches to the sky. Deep-printed shadows at the tent-door lie, And camels slumber by the burning well. One weeps within, wrinkled and dusk of face, White-haired and lordly, o’er the new-brought dead: Mohammed over Seid, who loved and read Truth in the master when a fierce disgrace Burned in his blood and none would heed the word. “Behold the Prophet how he mourns a slave!” So the slave’s daughter, and Mohammed heard: “A friend has lost a friend. What Allah gave His wisdom takes. He never yet has erred!” Thus said, and made the slain a martial grave.