As though beneath the beetling crags

Of some deep mountain-gorge--

By cliffs of wall, on either hand,

That soared up to the narrow sky,

Which with dim lustre lit

The shimmering surface of enamelled brick,

Whereon, through giant groves,

Blue-coated hunters chased the boar,

Or 'loosed red-tasselled falcon

After flying crane.

But soon we reached another gate,

Sword-guarded, and we entered,

And plunged into the traffic

Of clamorous merchantmen,

Speeding their business ere the heat of day.

And as we jostled, slowly,

Through bewildering bazaars,

The porters and the idler wayfarers

All turned to look upon our shame,

With cold, unpitying eyes,

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