A Sultan Proud And Tawny At Elegant Ease He Stands, With His Bare Throat Brown And Scrawny, And His Indolent, Leaf-Like Hands. And The Eunuch Tulips That Listen In Their Gaudy Turbans So, With Their Scimetar Leaves That Glisten, Are Guards Of His Seraglio; Where Sultana Roses Musky, Voluptuous In Houri Charms, With Their Bold Breasts Deep And Dusky, Impatiently Wait His Arms. Tall, Beautiful, Sad, And Slender, His Greek-Girl Dancing Slaves, For The White-Limbed Lilies Tender His Royal Hand He Waves. While He Watches Them, Softly Smiling, His Favorite Rose That Hour With A Butterfly Gallant Is Wiling In Her Attar-Scented Bower.