Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/128

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90
THE SICK KING IN BOKHARA.

As the king said, so was it done,
And to the mosque my lord passed on.


But on the morrow, when the king
Went forth again, the holy book
Carried before him, as is right,
And through the square his way he took;


My man comes running, flecked with blood
From yesterday, and falling down
Cries out most earnestly, "O king,
My lord, O king, do right, I pray!


"How canst thou, ere thou hear, discern
If I speak folly? but a king,
Whether a thing be great or small,
Like Allah, hears and judges all.


"Wherefore hear thou! Thou know'st, how fierce
In these last days the sun hath burned;
That the green water in the tanks
Is to a putrid puddle turned;
And the canal, that from the stream
Of Samarcand is brought this way,
Wastes and runs thinner every day.


'Now I at nightfall had gone forth
Alone, and in a darksome place
Under some mulberry-trees I found
A little pool; and in short space
With all the water that was there
I filled my pitcher, and stole home
Unseen; and having drink to spare,
I hid the can behind the door,
And went up on the roof to sleep.