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