HAROUN AL RASCHID.

Golden pride and fragrant lightAre mine, and thereto was I born;Thronéd pomp is mine of right,Robes bestarred, or like the morn;All words of pearl to me belongSingers can string in shining song;Jewels, as perfect song-notes rare,Are mine own to waste or wear.Not less hath this right hand powerWhereof such shows are but the flower,—Power deep-rooted in the earthThat shakes to royal wrath or mirth.Yet, on many a deep-blue night,Clad and shod in coarsest wise,All my splendors must I slightFor the smile of the common skies:My feet, that inlaid courts forego,Lanes of the dusty city know;I jest among the bronzéd slaves,And am well met with merry knaves,And quaft poor drink, and feel it glow;Steep me in simple weal and woe;Yea, learn to swim in those dim wavesThat, my palace flight before,Fawning fall with plausive roar.Hence rumors dear shall rise and riseOf my descending and disguise;Whereat the slave’s freed soul shall sing:A Caliph looked into his eyes:How is he, then, so mean a thing?By torchlight of such memoriesThe Caliph in himself he sees.Thus, being loved, shall live my name,Glowing in the general flameOf the people’s hearth and heart;While men lie entombed apartThat were as glorious and as great,Forgot, because they kept their state;Crumbling with the crumbling PastInto a dust unnamed at last,Whence their gems procured shall beBy some wiser soul like me.

Golden pride and fragrant light

Are mine, and thereto was I born;

Thronéd pomp is mine of right,

Robes bestarred, or like the morn;

All words of pearl to me belong

Singers can string in shining song;

Jewels, as perfect song-notes rare,

Are mine own to waste or wear.

Not less hath this right hand powerWhereof such shows are but the flower,—Power deep-rooted in the earthThat shakes to royal wrath or mirth.

Not less hath this right hand power

Whereof such shows are but the flower,—

Power deep-rooted in the earth

That shakes to royal wrath or mirth.

Yet, on many a deep-blue night,Clad and shod in coarsest wise,All my splendors must I slightFor the smile of the common skies:My feet, that inlaid courts forego,Lanes of the dusty city know;I jest among the bronzéd slaves,And am well met with merry knaves,And quaft poor drink, and feel it glow;Steep me in simple weal and woe;Yea, learn to swim in those dim wavesThat, my palace flight before,Fawning fall with plausive roar.

Yet, on many a deep-blue night,

Clad and shod in coarsest wise,

All my splendors must I slight

For the smile of the common skies:

My feet, that inlaid courts forego,

Lanes of the dusty city know;

I jest among the bronzéd slaves,

And am well met with merry knaves,

And quaft poor drink, and feel it glow;

Steep me in simple weal and woe;

Yea, learn to swim in those dim waves

That, my palace flight before,

Fawning fall with plausive roar.

Hence rumors dear shall rise and riseOf my descending and disguise;Whereat the slave’s freed soul shall sing:A Caliph looked into his eyes:How is he, then, so mean a thing?By torchlight of such memoriesThe Caliph in himself he sees.Thus, being loved, shall live my name,Glowing in the general flameOf the people’s hearth and heart;While men lie entombed apartThat were as glorious and as great,Forgot, because they kept their state;Crumbling with the crumbling PastInto a dust unnamed at last,Whence their gems procured shall beBy some wiser soul like me.

Hence rumors dear shall rise and rise

Of my descending and disguise;

Whereat the slave’s freed soul shall sing:

A Caliph looked into his eyes:

How is he, then, so mean a thing?

By torchlight of such memories

The Caliph in himself he sees.

Thus, being loved, shall live my name,

Glowing in the general flame

Of the people’s hearth and heart;

While men lie entombed apart

That were as glorious and as great,

Forgot, because they kept their state;

Crumbling with the crumbling Past

Into a dust unnamed at last,

Whence their gems procured shall be

By some wiser soul like me.

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