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TIME OF THE BARMECIDES, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: My eyes are filmed, my beard is grey
Last Line: For the times of the barmecides!


My eyes are filmed, my beard is grey ,
I am bowed with the weight of years;
I would I were stretched in my bed of clay,
With my long lost youth's compeers;
For back to the Past, though the thought brings woe,
My memory ever glides-
To the old, old time, long, long ago,
The time of the Barmecides.
To the old, old time, long, long ago,
The time of the Barmecides.


Then Youth was mine, and a fierce wild will,
And an iron arm in war,
And a fleet foot high upon Ishkar's hill,
When the watch-lights glimmered afar,
And a barb as fiery as any I know,
That Khoord or Beddaween rides,
Ere my friends lay low-long, long ago,
In the time of the Barmecides;
Ere my friends lay low-long, long ago,
In the time of the Barmecides.


One golden goblet illumed my board,
One silver dish was there;
At hand my tried Karamanian sword,
Lay always bright and bare;
For those were the days when the angry blow
Supplanted the word that chides-
When hearts could glow-long, long ago,
In the time of the Barmecides;
When hearts could glow-long, long ago,
In the time of the Barmecides.


Through city and desert my mates and I
Were free to rove and roam,
Our diapered canopy the deep of the sky,
Or the roof of the palace dome-
O! ours was that vivid life to and fro
Which only sloth derides-
Men spent Life so, long, long ago,
In the time of the Barmecides,
Men spent Life so, long, long ago,
In the time of the Barmecides.


I see rich Bagdad once again,
With its turrets of Moorish mould,
And the Khalif's twice five hundred men,
Whose binishes flamed with gold;
I call up many a gorgeous show-
Which the Pall of Oblivion hides-
All passed like snow, long, long ago,
With the time of the Barmecides;
All passed like snow, long, long ago,
With the time of the Barmecides!


But mine eye is dim, and my beard is grey,
And I bend with the weight of years-
May I soon go down to the House of Clay
Where slumber my Youth's compeers!
For with them and the Past, though the thought wakes woe,
My memory ever abides;
And I mourn for the Times gone long ago,
For the Times of the Barmecides!
I mourn for the Times gone long ago,
For the Times of the Barmecides!






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