The Choice

The long well rose above me, a slim shaft,
With wet, black walls, and high aloft the light
Round as a moon intensified my night.
I ate the air and bitterly I quaffed
The death damp; nor my pleading nor my craft
Availed to aid me in my desperate plight:
The vista of high heaven the only sight
To see, and at my woe high heaven had laughed.

Suddenly the darkness deepened, and a face
Gloomed on the opening, terrible and grim
An Afreet! In his hands he held disgrace
And direst poverty and ruinous strife.
“Choose now between,” he cried, “calm Death by him
And Life empoisoned,” yet I cried, “Give Life.”