Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Aladdin and the Jinn
By Vachel Lindsay
“B
“This tailor-shop sings not at all.
Chant me a word of the twilight,
Of roses that mourn in the fall.
Bring me a song like hashish
That will comfort the stale and the sad,
For I would be mending my spirit,
Forgetting these days that are bad:
Forgetting companions too shallow,
Their quarrels and arguments thin;
Forgetting the shouting muezzin.”
“I am your slave,” said the Jinn.
“I have been a starved pauper too long.
Serve them in vessels of jade and of shell,
Serve them with fruit and with song:
Wines of pre-Adamite Sultans
Digged from beneath the black seas,
New-gathered dew from the heavens
Dripped down from heaven’s sweet trees,
Cups from the angels’ pale tables
That will make me both handsome and wise;
For I have beheld her, the Princess—
Firelight and starlight her eyes!
Pauper I am—I would woo her.
And … let me drink wine to begin,
Though the Koran expressly forbids it.”
“I am your slave,” said the Jinn.
“That is drawn like the dawn of the moon,
When the sphere seems to rest on the mountains
Half-hidden, yet full-risen soon.
Build me a dome,” said Aladdin,
“That shall cause all young lovers to sigh—
The fulness of life and of beauty,
Peace beyond peace to the eye;
A palace of foam and of opal,
Pure moonlight without and within,
Where I may enthrone my sweet lady.”
“I am your slave,” said the Jinn.