Wild honey in the honey-comb, And swarms of golden bees, These are as sumptuous as Rome, Rich as the Chersonese. Not Tamburlain's Persepolis Nor vaulted Ctesiphon Were jewelled as this serpent is Which stretches in the sun. And this red earth beneath my hand, Which burns my hand like fire, Is barbarous as Samarcand, Imperial as Tyre. |