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Kusta-ben-Luka is my name, I write To Abd-al-Rabban; fellow roisterer once, Now the good Caliph’s learned Treasurer, And for no ear but his.

Carry this letter Through the great gallery of the Treasure House Where banners of the Caliphs hang, night-coloured But brilliant as the night's embroidery, And wait war’s music; pass the little gallery; Pass books of learning from Byzantium Written in gold upon a purple stain, And pause at last, I was about to say, At the great book of Sappho's song; but no For should you leave my letter there, a boy's Love-lorn, indifferent hands might come upon it And let it fall unnoticed to the floor.