TALES OF ARABIA 71 TALES OF ARABIA S, friend, I own these tales of Arabia Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals, Age-old but yet untamed, for ages Pass and the magic is undiminished. Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman, Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars, Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions. Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood. Fait ones, beyond all numerability, Beam from the palace, beam on humanity, Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris Offering pleasure and only pleasure. Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian, Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities, Greek Gods or old time-honoured muses, Easily proffer unloved caresses. Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy; Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances, Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in-Edible1- flatter and wholly starve him.