Mohammed's Hill

Above the plain whereon Damascus lies,
Girdled by verdurous gardens, lifts a hill,
Bold, barren, rugged, like some form of ill,
Sprawled 'neath the sapphire of the Syrian skies.
Hither, 'tis said, when o'er his enemies
Mohammed had in triumph wrought his will,
He came and stood, that he might feast his fill
Upon what seemed to him a paradise.

Deep-fruited orchards, never touched by dearth;
White domes and minarets, radiantly rare;
Waters that shone and shouted in their mirth;
Yet from the hill the Prophet would not fare,
Lest, having trod a heaven upon earth,
He miss the one in blest celestial air.