Why I have your heart selected,
And established, so to speak,
<g>There</g> my being's Caliphate?
All your longings shall be mine.
I'm an autocrat in passion!
You shall live for me alone.
I'll be he who shall enthrall
You like gold and precious stones.
Should we part, then life is over,—
That is, <g>your</g> life, nota bene!
Every inch and fibre of you,
Will-less, without yea or nay,
I must know filled full of me.
Midnight beauties of your tresses,
All that's lovely to be named,
Shall, like Babylonian gardens,
Tempt your Sultan to his tryst.
After all, I don't complain, then,
Of your empty forehead-vault.
With a soul, one's oft absorbed in
Contemplation of oneself.
Listen, while we're on the subject,—
If you like it, faith, you shall
Have a ring about your ankle:—
'Twill be best for both of us.
I will be your soul by proxy;
For the rest—why, status quo. [Anitra snores.
What! She sleeps! Then has it glided
Bootless past her, all I've said?—
No; it marks my influence o'er her
That she floats away in dreams
On my love-talk as it flows.
[Rises, and lays trinkets in her lap.
Here are jewels! Here are more!
Sleep, Anitra! Dream of Peer.
Sleep! In sleeping, you the crown have
