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Eugene Field - Abu Midjan
Work rating: Low

When Father Time swings round his scythe,
  Entomb me `neath the bounteous vine,
So that its juices, red and blithe,
  May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.

"Elsewise with tears and bated breath
  Should I survey the life to be.
But oh! How should I hail the death
  That brings that—vinous grace to me!"

So sung the dauntless Saracen,
  Whereat the Prophet-Chief ordains
That, curst of Allah, loathed of men,
  The faithless one shall die in chains.

But one vile Christian slave that lay
  A prisoner near that prisoner saith:
"God willing, I will plant some day
  A vine where liest thou in death."

Lo, over Abu Midjan`s grave
  With purpling fruit a vine-tree grows;
Where rots the martyred Christian slave
  Allah, and only Allah, knows!
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