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THEY COULD DIVE LIKE SEALS
TWO MEN TAKE YOU IN HAND, AND AWAY YOU GO
DID A SORT OF FANDAROLE
THEN IT DAWNED UPON THE DIPLOMAT
BUT NOW GIBRALTAR, THE CROUCHING LION OF TRAFALGAR, HAD RISEN FROM THE SEA
WE COULD HAVE LISTENED ALL NIGHT TO BEÑUNES
"THAT IS THE KASBA"
ONE DOES NOT HURRY THE ORIENT—ONE WAITS ON IT
MARVELLOUS BASKETS AND QUEER THINGS
WE DID NOT CARE MUCH FOR PARKS
ETERNALLY EAST WITH NO HINT OF THE OUTSIDE WORLD
TWO BENT, WRINKLED WOMEN WEAVING LACE OUTSIDE THE DOOR
WE LOOKED ACROSS THE ENTRANCE AND THERE ROSE THE ACROPOLIS, HIGH AGAINST THE BLUE
HE WOULD SWING HIS ARMS AND BEGIN, "YOU SEE—!" THE REST REQUIRED A MIND-READER
I WOULD HAVE APPLIED FOR THE POSITION IN THE CHORUS MYSELF
TOOK TURNS ADDRESSING THE MULTITUDE
ONE'S AGE, STATED ON OATH, GOES WITH A PASSPORT
KEYEFF
I WANTED TO CARRY AWAY ONE OF THOSE TOMBSTONES
ALL THE PLAINS AND SLOPES OF THE OLD CITY, WITH ITS WHITE FRAGMENTS AND POOR RUINED HARBOR, LAY AT OUR FEET
FROM THE TIME OF ADAM, BAALBEC BECAME A PLACE OF ALTARS
SO THE PATRIARCHS JOURNEYED; SO, TWO THOUSAND YEARS LATER, JOSEPH AND MARY TRAVELLED INTO EGYPT
URGING US TO PARTAKE OF THE PRECIOUS STUFF, WITHOUT STINT
ASKED HIM IF HE WOULDN'T EXECUTE A LITTLE COMMISSION FOR ME IN THE BAZAARS
THE PATRIARCH KNEW ALL ABOUT JAFFA
JERUSALEM—ITS BUBBLE-ROOFED HOUSES AND DOMES, ITS CYPRESS AND OLIVE TREES
A CAMEL TRAIN LED THE WAY THROUGH THE GATES
THE DEPTH OF THEIR FALL
THE WAY OF THE CROSS
THE TRUE GOLGOTHA—THE PLACE OF THE SKULL
A VAST INDIFFERENCE TO ALL PUNY THINGS
SANCTUARY IN KARNAK
GADDIS
I MADE A PICTURE OF THE FLY-BRUSH BRIGADE
ITS MAGNIFICENT PYLONS OR ENTRANCE WALLS … AND THEN ONCE MORE WE WERE ON THE DONKEYS
THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR … ONCE MORE REFLECTING ITS COLUMNS IN THE NILE
THINK OF WATERING A WHOLE WHEAT-FIELD WITH A WELL-SWEEP AND A PAIL
GOT IT MADE CHEAP SOMEWHERE, WITH HER PICTURE CARVED ON THE FRONT OF IT
SET OUT ON THE LONG, STEADY, ATLANTIC SWING
THE SHIP-DWELLERS
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"The grand object of all travel is to see the shores of the Mediterranean."
—Dr. Samuel Johnson.
I
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THE BOOK, AND THE DREAM
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It was a long time ago—far back in another century—that my father brought home from the village, one evening, a brand-new book. There were not so many books in those days, and this was a fine big one, with black and gilt covers, and such a lot of pictures!
I was at an age to claim things. I said the book was my book, and, later, petitioned my father to establish that claim. (I remember we were climbing through the bars at the time, having driven the cows to the further pasture.)
My father was kindly disposed, but conservative; that was his habit. He said that
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