"So follow’d, Rustum left his tents, and cross’d The camp, and to the Persian host appear’d. And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail’d; but the Tartars knew not who he was. And dear as the wet diver to the eyes Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, Having made up his tale of precious pearls, Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands— So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. And Rustum to the Persian front advanc’d, And Sohrab arm’d in Haman’s tent, and came. And as afield the reapers cut a swathe Down through the middle of a rich man’s corn, And on each side are squares of standing corn, And in the midst a stubble, short and bare; So on each side were squares of men, with spears Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast His eyes towards the Tartar tents, and saw Sohrab come forth, and ey’d him as he came. As some rich woman, on a winter’s morn, Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge Who with numb blacken’d fingers makes her fire— At cock-crow, on a starlit winter’s morn, When the frost flowers the whiten’d window panes— And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum ey’d The unknown adventurous Youth, who from afar Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth All the most valiant chiefs: long he perus’d His spirited air, and wonder’d who he was. For very young he seem’d, tenderly rear’d; Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, Which in a queen’s secluded garden throws Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, By midnight, to a bubbling fountain’s sound— So slender Sohrab seem’d, so softly rear’d. And a deep pity enter’d Rustum’s soul As he beheld him coming; [...]"