Baghdad Song

Oh, for corniced palace of Baghdad! not

the palatial cornices of Sindád al-Híra—

It crowns the gardens cascading below,   

a virgin unveiled in a perfumed chamber.

Wind plays in the branches. They bend.

Lovers at last coming together.

Her neck necklaced by the river Tigris,

her lord our master our Imám al-Hádi,

Násir, Mansúr, best of caliphs,

who never set out on horseback to war.

God bless him long   

as a dove on a swaying bough's cooing,

Long as smiles flash lightning

(and eyes stream like clouds in answer)

From a bride like the sun when the mist parts,

revealing herself luminous in splendor.