The Scented Garden

Satisfaction excludes speculation. 131 XXXVIII THE GARDEN1 I have a porcelain jasmine-jar deep stained with crimson—blood, I wis ! And in my garden do I lie, my garden full of clema- tis. Above me sing the birds, around the rose and lily blush and pale ; Mine is a bower of eglantine, my couch of lilac and nargis. The cup of wine is in my hand ; the slaves await the master’s word ; My huqqa2 smoke to heaven curls, laden with maddening cannabis.3 I feel upon my jasmine-jar these eyes ; this brain its beauty knows, Its perfume roused to ecstasy by cunning strain of ambergris.4 Above, Habib my lover hangs ; his podex is the jasmine-jar ; His lips are softly closed on mine, one long unfa- thomable kiss. All, all is rapture ; who would shift one inch all mystery to disclose ? A fool is he who queries Quid ? till baffled by the question Quis ?5