Vachel Lindsay

“BRING me soft song,” said Aladdin;

“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.

“Bring me old wines,” said Aladdin,

“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.

“Plan me a dome,” said Aladdin,

“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.