Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Recollections of the Arabian Nights

by Alfred Tennyson

For other versions of this work, see Recollections of the Arabian Nights (Tennyson).

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

 

I.
When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free
In the silken sail of infancy,
The tide of time flowed back with me
The forwardflowing tide of time;
And many a sheeny summermorn,
Adown the Tigris I was borne,
By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold,
Highwalléd gardens green and old;
True Mussulman was I and sworn,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

II.
Anight my shallop, rustling through
The low and blooméd foliage, drove
The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove
The citronshadows in the blue:
By gardenporches on the brim,
The costly doors flung open wide,
Gold glittering through lamplight dim,
And broidered sophas on each side:
In sooth it was a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

III.
Often, where clearstemmed platans guard
The outlet, did I turn away
The boathead down a broad canal
From the main river sluiced, where all
The sloping of the moonlit sward
Was damaskwork, and deep inlay
Of breaded blosms unmown, which crept
Adown to where the waters slept.
A goodly place, a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid!

IV.
A motion from the river won
Ridged the smooth level, bearing on
My shallop through the starstrown calm,
Until another night in night
I entered, from the clearer light,
Imbowered vaults of pillared palm,
Imprisoning sweets, which as they clomb
Heavenward, were stayed beneath the dome
Of hollow boughs.—A goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid!

V.
Still onward; and the clear canal
Is rounded to as clear a lake.
From the green rivage many a fall
Of diamond rillets musical,
Through little chrystal arches low
Down from the central fountain's flow
Fall'n silverchiming, seemed to shake
The sparkling flints beneath the prow.
A goodly place, a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid!

VI.
Above through many a bowery turn
A walk with varycoloured shells
Wandered engrained. On either side
All round about the fragrant marge,
From fluted vase, and brazen urn
In order, eastern flowers large,
Some dropping low their crimson bells
Half-closed, and others studded wide
With disks and tiars, fed the time
With odour in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VII.
Far off, and where the lemongrove
In closest coverture upsprung,
The living airs of middle night
Died round the bulbul as he sung.
Not he: but something which possessed
The darkness of the world, delight,
Life, anguish, death, immortal love
Ceasing not, mingled, unrepressed,
Apart from place, witholding time,
But flattering the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VIII.
Blackgreen the gardenbowers and grots
Slumbered: the solemn palms were ranged
Above, unwooed of summer wind.
A sudden splendour from behind
Flushed all the leaves with rich goldgreen,
And flowing rapidly between
Their interspaces, counterchanged
The level lake with diamondplots
Of saffron light. A lovely time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid!

IX.
Darkblue the deep sphere overhead,
Distinct with vivid stars unrayed,
Grew darker from that underflame;
So, leaping lightly from the boat,
With silver anchor left afloat,
In marvel whence that glory came
Upon me, as in sleep I sank
In cool soft turf upon the bank,
Entrancéd with that place and time,
So worthy of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

X.
Thence through the garden I was borne—
A realm of pleasance, many a mound,
And many a shadowchequered lawn
Full of the city's stilly sound.
And deep myrrhthickets blowing round
The stately cedar, tamarisks,
Thick rosaries of scented thorn,
Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks
Graven with emblems of the time,
In honour of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XI.
With dazéd vision unawares
From the long alley's latticed shade
Emerged, I came upon the great
Pavilion of the Caliphat,
Right to the carven cedarn doors,
Flung inward over spangled floors,
Broadbaséd flights of marble stairs
Ran up with golden balustrade,
After the fashion of the time,
And humour of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XII.
The fourscore windows all alight
As with the quintessence of flame,
A million tapers flaring bright
From wreathéd silvers looked to shame
The hollowvaulted dark, and streamed
Upon the moonéd domes aloof
In inmost Bagdat, till there seemed
Hundreds of crescents on the roof
Of night newrisen, that marvellous time,
To celebrate the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XIII.
Then stole I up, and trancedly
Gazed on the Persian girl alone,
Serene with argentlidded eyes
Amorous, and lashes like to rays
Of darkness, and a brow of pearl
Tresséd with redolent ebony,
In many a dark delicious curl,
Flowing below her rosehued zone;
The sweetest lady of the time,
Well worthy of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

XIV.
Six columns, three on either side,
Pure silver, underpropped a rich
Throne o' the massive ore, from which
Downdrooped, in many a floating fold,
Engarlanded and diapered
With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold.
Thereon, his deep eye laughterstirred
With merriment of kingly pride,
Sole star of all that place and time,
I saw him—in his golden prime,
The Good Haroun Alraschid!