Send some poems to a friend - the love thought that counts!
Poems for the People   -  Poems by the People

Passions in PoetryRecollections Of The Arabian Nights
by Lord Alfred Tennyson

 

 Your Response Panel

Friend

Email this poem to a Friend (or yourself)

Vote

Vote for this Poem (see comments below the poem)

Print

Display a Printable web page with this poem
Resources Submit an Article, Link or Note about this Poem

 

Love Poems
Sad Poems
Friendship Poems
Poems on Life
Poetry Buffet
Read the latest Passionate News and discover what's happening in the world of poetry.If you have a question, we probably have the answer in our Frequently Asked Questions section
Every Resident Poet gets their own page, listing all their published worksLearn how to sell your poetry to the magazine or book markets
Links to some of the BEST Poetry sites on the Net!Search our huge database of poems for that special word or phrase
Instant Gratification - and thousands more poems! Join our growing community.You, too, can have your poetry showcased to the world!
Full list of ALL our poetry categories
Learn to write better poetry in our Learning Center!
Browse or send a poem from the classical Masters of poetry
Mix beautiful art with our poetry, and send the results to that special someone in your life
Passions in Poetry Home > All Poems > Classic Poetry > Lord Alfred Tennyson > The Revenge: A Ballad of the Fleet The Revenge: A Ballad of the Fleet
Lord Alfred Tennyson
Poetry | Biography | Resources
Recollections Of The Arabian Nights
by Lord Alfred Tennyson

When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free
In the silken sail of infancy,
The tide of time flow'd back with me,
The forward-flowing tide of time;
And many a sheeny summer-morn,
Adown the Tigris I was borne,
By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold,
High-walled gardens green and old;
   True Mussulman was I and sworn,
   For it was in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Anight my shallop, rustling thro'
The low and bloomed foliage, drove
The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove
The citron-shadows in the blue:
By garden porches on the brim,
The costly doors flung open wide,
Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim,
And broider'd sofas on each side:
   In sooth it was a goodly time,
   For it was in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Often where clear-stemm'd platans guard
The outlet, did I turn away
The boat-head down a broad canal
From the main river sluiced, where all
The sloping of the moon-lit sward
Was damask-work, and deep inlay
Of braided blooms unmown, which crept
Adown to where the water slept.
   A goodly place, a goodly time,
   For it was in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

A motion from the river won
Ridged the smooth level, bearing on
My shallop thro' the star-strown calm,
Until another night in night
I enter'd, from the clearer light,
Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd palm,
Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb
Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome
   Of hollow boughs. -- A goodly time,
   For it was in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Still onward; and the clear canal
Is rounded to as clear a lake.
From the green rivage many a fall
Of diamond rillets musical,
Thro' little crystal arches low
Down from the central fountain's flow
Fall'n silver-chiming, seemed to shake
The sparkling flints beneath the prow.
   A goodly place, a goodly time,
   For it was in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Above thro' many a bowery turn
A walk with vary-colour'd shells
Wander'd engrain'd. On either side
All round about the fragrant marge
From fluted vase, and brazen urn
In order, eastern flowers large,
Some dropping low their crimson bells
Half-closed, and others studded wide
   With disks and tiars, fed the time
   With odour in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Far off, and where the lemon grove
In closest coverture upsprung,
The living airs of middle night
Died round the bulbul as he sung;
Not he: but something which possess'd
The darkness of the world, delight,
Life, anguish, death, immortal love,
Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd,
   Apart from place, withholding time,
   But flattering the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Black the garden-bowers and grots
Slumber'd: the solemn palms were ranged
Above, unwoo'd of summer wind:
A sudden splendour from behind
Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green,
And, flowing rapidly between
Their interspaces, counterchanged
The level lake with diamond-plots
   Of dark and bright. A lovely time,
   For it was in the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead,
Distinct with vivid stars inlaid,
Grew darker from that under-flame:
So, leaping lightly from the boat,
With silver anchor left afloat,
In marvel whence that glory came
Upon me, as in sleep I sank
In cool soft turf upon the bank,
   Entranced with that place and time,
   So worthy of the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Thence thro' the garden I was drawn --
A realm of pleasance, many a mound,
And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn
Full of the city's stilly sound,
And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round
The stately cedar, tamarisks,
Thick rosaries of scented thorn,
Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks
   Graven with emblems of the time,
   In honour of the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

With dazed vision unawares
From the long alley's latticed shade
Emerged, I came upon the great
Pavilion of the Caliphat.
Right to the carven cedarn doors,
Flung inward over spangled floors,
Broad-based flights of marble stairs
Ran up with golden balustrade,
   After the fashion of the time,
   And humour of the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

The fourscore windows all alight
As with the quintessence of flame,
A million tapers flaring bright
From twisted silvers look'd to shame
The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd
Upon the mooned domes aloof
In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd
Hundreds of crescents on the roof
   Of night new-risen, that marvellous time
   To celebrate the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Then stole I up, and trancedly
Gazed on the Persian girl alone,
Serene with argent-lidded eyes
Amorous, and lashes like to rays
Of darkness, and a brow of pearl
Tressed with redolent ebony,
In many a dark delicious curl,
Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone;
   The sweetest lady of the time,
   Well worthy of the golden prime
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Six columns, three on either side,
Pure silver, underpropt a rich
Throne of the massive ore, from which
Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold,
Engarlanded and diaper'd
With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold.
Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd
With merriment of kingly pride,
   Sole star of all that place and time,
   I saw him -- in his golden prime,
   Of good Haroun Alraschid.

 

Submission Notes: None

Classic Home > Lord Alfred Tennyson >> The Revenge: A Ballad of the Fleet The Revenge: A Ballad of the Fleet
If you have written a paper about this poem or poet, you can submit it for possible publication with our other Resources.

Submit paper about Recollections Of The Arabian Nights

Submit paper about Lord Alfred Tennyson

Passions in Poetry

Top | All Poems | About Passions in Poetry | Your Privacy | Email Us
All poetry is copyright by the individual authors.
All other material on this web site, unless otherwise noted, is
Copyright 1998 - 2017 by Ron Carnell and Passions in Poetry.