What Shall I Think?
Like peas from an inverted basket streaming,
The great pearls down the polished stairway poured.
The great pearls down the polished stairway poured.
So Mahmoud Khan smiled grimly once again,
And to the gray old Brahmin answered then,
While the old man so shook to see his pelf
That the eleven bells which fringed his vest
Tinkled with ruby tongues their tiny best:
"When man's god is the priesthood's money-chest,
What shall I think, forsooth, of man himself?"
And to the gray old Brahmin answered then,
While the old man so shook to see his pelf
That the eleven bells which fringed his vest
Tinkled with ruby tongues their tiny best:
"When man's god is the priesthood's money-chest,
What shall I think, forsooth, of man himself?"
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