Couched in the lap of the last concubine —
Satiate of bitter knowledge, weary-wise —
Watching through heedless and half-opened eyes
The rhythmic dancer-groups divide, entwine,
Divide again, in sway and swirl divine —
Where fitful peeps and lingers, peeps and flies
Some unveiled charm voluptuous — so lies
The languid king, and lifts his cup for wine.
And at the call there comes, with creaking gait,
Yet louting low in uncouth courtier grace.
One rich apparell'd in a robe of state,
At sight of whom all, all shrink back a space —
Save the wan king; he, slow, without debate,
Drains down the cup — and then they hide his face.