VITHE BOASTING OF YOUTH

VITHE BOASTING OF YOUTHThe soldier-lad from Kerman,The sailor-lad from JaskKnew naught that should deter manFrom finishing the cask."Wine sets the Faithful jibbingLike mules before an inn,But we sit bravely bibbing,And hold our own with sin."Said the stout-hearted wonderOf Jask: "Wine frights not me.I fear no foe but thunderAnd winds that sting the sea.""And I," said he of Kerman,"Fear nothing but the night,Or some imperiousfirmanThat bids the Faithful fight.""They say some lads fear ladiesAnd truckle to them." "WhoCould be so weak? TheCadisRise up for me and you.""But doctors, nay and princes,Have troubles of their own,Save those whom fire convinces....I leave the stuff alone.""And I...." Then both bethought themThat, howso strong and wise,Their principles had caught themOn this mad enterprise."'Tis time to act with daring,And rest," said he of Jask,And swore a mighty swearing,(And drained another flask)."If I go on, attendantUpon this woman's way,May I become dependantOn your arrears of pay!""If I," said Captain Kerman,"Should knuckle to my mate,May I become a mermanAnd live on maggot-bait!""Then since we have discoveredThat women need our strength"—(The tavern-houris hovered)"To hold them at arm's length,Sit down in this rest-house, andTell me a tale amongThe tales, one in your thousand!"This was the story sung:"I threw my love about you like fine raiment;I let you kill my pride.You passed me by, but smiled at me in payment,And I was satisfied."I made my mind a plaything for your leisure,Content to be ignored.Body and soul I waited on your pleasure,Waited—without reward."I have no faint repinings that we met, dear,Or that I left you cold.I rub my hands. You will be colder yet, dear,Some day when you are old.""Forbidden wine is mellow.The sun has set. Of whomSing you this song, Brave Fellow?Night is the ante-roomBreeze-sprinkled to keep coolerThe feasting-halls behind.""She might have been my rulerBut for myStrength of Mind.""That was the tune to whistle!How have I longed to learnThe deeds of men of gristleLike mine!..." "Tell me in turnSome of your lore of women,Whose wiles are deep asbhang.Your strength shall teach to swim menWho fall in love...." He sang:"You came to me, and well you chose your quarry.You told your tale, and well you played your rôle.You spoke of suffering, and I was sorryWith all my heart, with all my soul.'Out of the deep,' you said. I thought to save you,And stunned myself upon the covered shoal.Yet, poor deceptive shallows, I forgave youWith all my heart, with all my soul.You sought whatever evil had not sought you.In vain I strove to make your nature whole.I did not know the market that had bought youWith all your heart, with all your soul.If man had one pure impulse you would smudge it.You had one gift, my pity, which you stole.Now I will only tell you that I grudge itWith all my heart, with all my soul.""Of whom this song, Brave Fellow?The stars in heaven's black soilFold up their petalled yellowThat pays the angels' toil."The lamp had burned its wick dim,The pair had drunk their fill...."I might have been her victimBut for myStrength of Will."Then one said to the other:"Such strength as yours and mineMust put its foot down, brother,And stay here—pass the wine—Till, for the world's salvation,Shall radiate from this denThe Great ConfederationOf Independent Men."The last sour mule was saddled,On went the caravan.These twain turned on the raddledHandmaidens of thehan,Blinked, cast them forth with loathingBecause the queen was fair,And lest their lack of clothingShould lay man's weakness bare.White as a cloud in summer,Slender as sun-shot rain—Earth knows what moods become her—The queen passed....In her trainThe Great ConfederationTrod with such wealth ofWillThat, in its trepidation,It never paid its bill.

The soldier-lad from Kerman,The sailor-lad from JaskKnew naught that should deter manFrom finishing the cask."Wine sets the Faithful jibbingLike mules before an inn,But we sit bravely bibbing,And hold our own with sin."Said the stout-hearted wonderOf Jask: "Wine frights not me.I fear no foe but thunderAnd winds that sting the sea.""And I," said he of Kerman,"Fear nothing but the night,Or some imperiousfirmanThat bids the Faithful fight.""They say some lads fear ladiesAnd truckle to them." "WhoCould be so weak? TheCadisRise up for me and you.""But doctors, nay and princes,Have troubles of their own,Save those whom fire convinces....I leave the stuff alone.""And I...." Then both bethought themThat, howso strong and wise,Their principles had caught themOn this mad enterprise."'Tis time to act with daring,And rest," said he of Jask,And swore a mighty swearing,(And drained another flask)."If I go on, attendantUpon this woman's way,May I become dependantOn your arrears of pay!""If I," said Captain Kerman,"Should knuckle to my mate,May I become a mermanAnd live on maggot-bait!""Then since we have discoveredThat women need our strength"—(The tavern-houris hovered)"To hold them at arm's length,Sit down in this rest-house, andTell me a tale amongThe tales, one in your thousand!"This was the story sung:"I threw my love about you like fine raiment;I let you kill my pride.You passed me by, but smiled at me in payment,And I was satisfied."I made my mind a plaything for your leisure,Content to be ignored.Body and soul I waited on your pleasure,Waited—without reward."I have no faint repinings that we met, dear,Or that I left you cold.I rub my hands. You will be colder yet, dear,Some day when you are old.""Forbidden wine is mellow.The sun has set. Of whomSing you this song, Brave Fellow?Night is the ante-roomBreeze-sprinkled to keep coolerThe feasting-halls behind.""She might have been my rulerBut for myStrength of Mind.""That was the tune to whistle!How have I longed to learnThe deeds of men of gristleLike mine!..." "Tell me in turnSome of your lore of women,Whose wiles are deep asbhang.Your strength shall teach to swim menWho fall in love...." He sang:"You came to me, and well you chose your quarry.You told your tale, and well you played your rôle.You spoke of suffering, and I was sorryWith all my heart, with all my soul.'Out of the deep,' you said. I thought to save you,And stunned myself upon the covered shoal.Yet, poor deceptive shallows, I forgave youWith all my heart, with all my soul.You sought whatever evil had not sought you.In vain I strove to make your nature whole.I did not know the market that had bought youWith all your heart, with all your soul.If man had one pure impulse you would smudge it.You had one gift, my pity, which you stole.Now I will only tell you that I grudge itWith all my heart, with all my soul.""Of whom this song, Brave Fellow?The stars in heaven's black soilFold up their petalled yellowThat pays the angels' toil."The lamp had burned its wick dim,The pair had drunk their fill...."I might have been her victimBut for myStrength of Will."Then one said to the other:"Such strength as yours and mineMust put its foot down, brother,And stay here—pass the wine—Till, for the world's salvation,Shall radiate from this denThe Great ConfederationOf Independent Men."The last sour mule was saddled,On went the caravan.These twain turned on the raddledHandmaidens of thehan,Blinked, cast them forth with loathingBecause the queen was fair,And lest their lack of clothingShould lay man's weakness bare.White as a cloud in summer,Slender as sun-shot rain—Earth knows what moods become her—The queen passed....In her trainThe Great ConfederationTrod with such wealth ofWillThat, in its trepidation,It never paid its bill.

The soldier-lad from Kerman,

The sailor-lad from Jask

Knew naught that should deter man

From finishing the cask.

"Wine sets the Faithful jibbing

Like mules before an inn,

But we sit bravely bibbing,

And hold our own with sin."

Said the stout-hearted wonderOf Jask: "Wine frights not me.I fear no foe but thunderAnd winds that sting the sea.""And I," said he of Kerman,"Fear nothing but the night,Or some imperiousfirmanThat bids the Faithful fight."

Said the stout-hearted wonder

Of Jask: "Wine frights not me.

I fear no foe but thunder

And winds that sting the sea."

"And I," said he of Kerman,

"Fear nothing but the night,

Or some imperiousfirman

That bids the Faithful fight."

"They say some lads fear ladiesAnd truckle to them." "WhoCould be so weak? TheCadisRise up for me and you.""But doctors, nay and princes,Have troubles of their own,Save those whom fire convinces....I leave the stuff alone."

"They say some lads fear ladies

And truckle to them." "Who

Could be so weak? TheCadis

Rise up for me and you."

"But doctors, nay and princes,

Have troubles of their own,

Save those whom fire convinces....

I leave the stuff alone."

"And I...." Then both bethought themThat, howso strong and wise,Their principles had caught themOn this mad enterprise."'Tis time to act with daring,And rest," said he of Jask,And swore a mighty swearing,(And drained another flask).

"And I...." Then both bethought them

That, howso strong and wise,

Their principles had caught them

On this mad enterprise.

"'Tis time to act with daring,

And rest," said he of Jask,

And swore a mighty swearing,

(And drained another flask).

"If I go on, attendantUpon this woman's way,May I become dependantOn your arrears of pay!""If I," said Captain Kerman,"Should knuckle to my mate,May I become a mermanAnd live on maggot-bait!"

"If I go on, attendant

Upon this woman's way,

May I become dependant

On your arrears of pay!"

"If I," said Captain Kerman,

"Should knuckle to my mate,

May I become a merman

And live on maggot-bait!"

"Then since we have discoveredThat women need our strength"—(The tavern-houris hovered)"To hold them at arm's length,Sit down in this rest-house, andTell me a tale amongThe tales, one in your thousand!"This was the story sung:

"Then since we have discovered

That women need our strength"—

(The tavern-houris hovered)

"To hold them at arm's length,

Sit down in this rest-house, and

Tell me a tale among

The tales, one in your thousand!"

This was the story sung:

"I threw my love about you like fine raiment;I let you kill my pride.You passed me by, but smiled at me in payment,And I was satisfied.

"I threw my love about you like fine raiment;

I let you kill my pride.

You passed me by, but smiled at me in payment,

And I was satisfied.

"I made my mind a plaything for your leisure,Content to be ignored.Body and soul I waited on your pleasure,Waited—without reward.

"I made my mind a plaything for your leisure,

Content to be ignored.

Body and soul I waited on your pleasure,

Waited—without reward.

"I have no faint repinings that we met, dear,Or that I left you cold.I rub my hands. You will be colder yet, dear,Some day when you are old."

"I have no faint repinings that we met, dear,

Or that I left you cold.

I rub my hands. You will be colder yet, dear,

Some day when you are old."

"Forbidden wine is mellow.The sun has set. Of whomSing you this song, Brave Fellow?Night is the ante-roomBreeze-sprinkled to keep coolerThe feasting-halls behind.""She might have been my rulerBut for myStrength of Mind."

"Forbidden wine is mellow.

The sun has set. Of whom

Sing you this song, Brave Fellow?

Night is the ante-room

Breeze-sprinkled to keep cooler

The feasting-halls behind."

"She might have been my ruler

But for myStrength of Mind."

"That was the tune to whistle!How have I longed to learnThe deeds of men of gristleLike mine!..." "Tell me in turnSome of your lore of women,Whose wiles are deep asbhang.Your strength shall teach to swim menWho fall in love...." He sang:

"That was the tune to whistle!

How have I longed to learn

The deeds of men of gristle

Like mine!..." "Tell me in turn

Some of your lore of women,

Whose wiles are deep asbhang.

Your strength shall teach to swim men

Who fall in love...." He sang:

"You came to me, and well you chose your quarry.You told your tale, and well you played your rôle.You spoke of suffering, and I was sorryWith all my heart, with all my soul.'Out of the deep,' you said. I thought to save you,And stunned myself upon the covered shoal.Yet, poor deceptive shallows, I forgave youWith all my heart, with all my soul.You sought whatever evil had not sought you.In vain I strove to make your nature whole.I did not know the market that had bought youWith all your heart, with all your soul.If man had one pure impulse you would smudge it.You had one gift, my pity, which you stole.Now I will only tell you that I grudge itWith all my heart, with all my soul."

"You came to me, and well you chose your quarry.

You told your tale, and well you played your rôle.

You spoke of suffering, and I was sorry

With all my heart, with all my soul.

'Out of the deep,' you said. I thought to save you,

And stunned myself upon the covered shoal.

Yet, poor deceptive shallows, I forgave you

With all my heart, with all my soul.

You sought whatever evil had not sought you.

In vain I strove to make your nature whole.

I did not know the market that had bought you

With all your heart, with all your soul.

If man had one pure impulse you would smudge it.

You had one gift, my pity, which you stole.

Now I will only tell you that I grudge it

With all my heart, with all my soul."

"Of whom this song, Brave Fellow?The stars in heaven's black soilFold up their petalled yellowThat pays the angels' toil."The lamp had burned its wick dim,The pair had drunk their fill...."I might have been her victimBut for myStrength of Will."

"Of whom this song, Brave Fellow?

The stars in heaven's black soil

Fold up their petalled yellow

That pays the angels' toil."

The lamp had burned its wick dim,

The pair had drunk their fill....

"I might have been her victim

But for myStrength of Will."

Then one said to the other:"Such strength as yours and mineMust put its foot down, brother,And stay here—pass the wine—Till, for the world's salvation,Shall radiate from this denThe Great ConfederationOf Independent Men."

Then one said to the other:

"Such strength as yours and mine

Must put its foot down, brother,

And stay here—pass the wine—

Till, for the world's salvation,

Shall radiate from this den

The Great Confederation

Of Independent Men."

The last sour mule was saddled,On went the caravan.These twain turned on the raddledHandmaidens of thehan,Blinked, cast them forth with loathingBecause the queen was fair,And lest their lack of clothingShould lay man's weakness bare.

The last sour mule was saddled,

On went the caravan.

These twain turned on the raddled

Handmaidens of thehan,

Blinked, cast them forth with loathing

Because the queen was fair,

And lest their lack of clothing

Should lay man's weakness bare.

White as a cloud in summer,Slender as sun-shot rain—Earth knows what moods become her—The queen passed....In her trainThe Great ConfederationTrod with such wealth ofWillThat, in its trepidation,It never paid its bill.

White as a cloud in summer,

Slender as sun-shot rain—

Earth knows what moods become her—

The queen passed....

In her train

The Great Confederation

Trod with such wealth ofWill

That, in its trepidation,

It never paid its bill.

VIITHE HEART OF THE SLAVEBut as they fared slave Obeidullah failed.Devouring fever shook him like a rat,And ere they reached Kashan his course was run.Then freedom came towards him, and he spoke:"Here is an eye of water, mulberry-trees,A rest-house, and to me a stranger thing,Rest. Caravan be strong, fare on with blessingsWhence you must forge your happiness—but I,Possessed of peace, shall never see the end.The heart within me has been fire so longThat now my body is smoke. I watch it driftLife leaves me gently as a mistress goesBefore her time to meet the uncoloured days,Saying: 'I have lived. Plead not. 'Twill be in vain.You were the end of summer. I have passedOut of the garden with fresh scents and dewsUpon me, out ere sunset with cool hands,The supple tread of youth and glorying limbsFirm as resolve, unblemished as my pride;Passed ere a leaf be fallen, or losing fightsBegin, that smirch the memory of love....'Sweet is the shade, and death's cool lips are welcomeAfter the burning kisses of the sun,The strained embraces of my owner, Toil.I shall remember her with gratitudeBut no regret, as I lie here. The dawnBiting the desert-edge shall not disturb me,Nor green oases zigzagged through the heatLike stepping-stones. The many-coloured hills,Heaven's mutable emotions, these are past.Beyond them I shall find securityOf tenure in the outstretched hands of God."Thereat his fellows made lament, and urged:"Sleep on and take your rest, but not for ever.Time adds to strength, and you shall rise with usWho wait. Already we foresee the coast.A little while...." Slave Obeidullah raisedHimself and looked ahead with shining eyes:"The moon is faint. A dust-cloud swirls.Therein I see dim marching hosts:Strange embassies and dancing girls,Spice-caravans and pilgrims. GhostsRise thick from this else fruitless plain,A waste that every season chars.Yet teeming centuries lie slainAnd trodden in the road to Fars."The still, white, creeping road slips on,Marked by the bones of man and beast.What comeliness and might have goneTo pad the highway of the East!Long dynasties of fallen rose,The glories of a thousand wars,A million lovers' hearts composeThe dust upon the road to Fars."No tears have ever served to holdThis shifting velvet, fathom-deep,Though vain and ceaseless winds have rolledIts pile wherein the ages sleep.Between your fingers you may siftKings, poets, priests andcharvadars.Heaven knows how many make a driftOf dust upon the road to Fars."The wraiths subside. And, One with All,Soon, in the brevity of length,Our lives shall hear the voiceless callThat builds this earth of love and strength.Eternal, breathless, we shall wait,Till, last of all the Avatars,God finds us in his first estate:The dust upon the road to Fars."So still he lay, so still the pilgrims deemedHe was no longer there. The deepening shadeCovered him softly. With his latest breathSlave Obeidullah looked upon the Queen:"You whom I loved so steadfastly,If all the blest should ask to seeThe cause for which my spirit cameAmong them with so little claimTo peace, this book should speak for me."I strove and only asked in feeHope of your immortalityNot mine—I had no other aimYou whom I loved."The Judge will bend to hear my plea,And take my songs upon his knee.Perhaps His hand will make the lameWorthy to worship you, the sameAs here they vainly tried to be,You whom I loved."Then, turned towards her, Obeidullah slept.

But as they fared slave Obeidullah failed.Devouring fever shook him like a rat,And ere they reached Kashan his course was run.Then freedom came towards him, and he spoke:"Here is an eye of water, mulberry-trees,A rest-house, and to me a stranger thing,Rest. Caravan be strong, fare on with blessingsWhence you must forge your happiness—but I,Possessed of peace, shall never see the end.The heart within me has been fire so longThat now my body is smoke. I watch it driftLife leaves me gently as a mistress goesBefore her time to meet the uncoloured days,Saying: 'I have lived. Plead not. 'Twill be in vain.You were the end of summer. I have passedOut of the garden with fresh scents and dewsUpon me, out ere sunset with cool hands,The supple tread of youth and glorying limbsFirm as resolve, unblemished as my pride;Passed ere a leaf be fallen, or losing fightsBegin, that smirch the memory of love....'Sweet is the shade, and death's cool lips are welcomeAfter the burning kisses of the sun,The strained embraces of my owner, Toil.I shall remember her with gratitudeBut no regret, as I lie here. The dawnBiting the desert-edge shall not disturb me,Nor green oases zigzagged through the heatLike stepping-stones. The many-coloured hills,Heaven's mutable emotions, these are past.Beyond them I shall find securityOf tenure in the outstretched hands of God."Thereat his fellows made lament, and urged:"Sleep on and take your rest, but not for ever.Time adds to strength, and you shall rise with usWho wait. Already we foresee the coast.A little while...." Slave Obeidullah raisedHimself and looked ahead with shining eyes:"The moon is faint. A dust-cloud swirls.Therein I see dim marching hosts:Strange embassies and dancing girls,Spice-caravans and pilgrims. GhostsRise thick from this else fruitless plain,A waste that every season chars.Yet teeming centuries lie slainAnd trodden in the road to Fars."The still, white, creeping road slips on,Marked by the bones of man and beast.What comeliness and might have goneTo pad the highway of the East!Long dynasties of fallen rose,The glories of a thousand wars,A million lovers' hearts composeThe dust upon the road to Fars."No tears have ever served to holdThis shifting velvet, fathom-deep,Though vain and ceaseless winds have rolledIts pile wherein the ages sleep.Between your fingers you may siftKings, poets, priests andcharvadars.Heaven knows how many make a driftOf dust upon the road to Fars."The wraiths subside. And, One with All,Soon, in the brevity of length,Our lives shall hear the voiceless callThat builds this earth of love and strength.Eternal, breathless, we shall wait,Till, last of all the Avatars,God finds us in his first estate:The dust upon the road to Fars."So still he lay, so still the pilgrims deemedHe was no longer there. The deepening shadeCovered him softly. With his latest breathSlave Obeidullah looked upon the Queen:"You whom I loved so steadfastly,If all the blest should ask to seeThe cause for which my spirit cameAmong them with so little claimTo peace, this book should speak for me."I strove and only asked in feeHope of your immortalityNot mine—I had no other aimYou whom I loved."The Judge will bend to hear my plea,And take my songs upon his knee.Perhaps His hand will make the lameWorthy to worship you, the sameAs here they vainly tried to be,You whom I loved."Then, turned towards her, Obeidullah slept.

But as they fared slave Obeidullah failed.

Devouring fever shook him like a rat,

And ere they reached Kashan his course was run.

Then freedom came towards him, and he spoke:

"Here is an eye of water, mulberry-trees,

A rest-house, and to me a stranger thing,

Rest. Caravan be strong, fare on with blessings

Whence you must forge your happiness—but I,

Possessed of peace, shall never see the end.

The heart within me has been fire so long

That now my body is smoke. I watch it drift

Life leaves me gently as a mistress goes

Before her time to meet the uncoloured days,

Saying: 'I have lived. Plead not. 'Twill be in vain.

You were the end of summer. I have passed

Out of the garden with fresh scents and dews

Upon me, out ere sunset with cool hands,

The supple tread of youth and glorying limbs

Firm as resolve, unblemished as my pride;

Passed ere a leaf be fallen, or losing fights

Begin, that smirch the memory of love....'

Sweet is the shade, and death's cool lips are welcome

After the burning kisses of the sun,

The strained embraces of my owner, Toil.

I shall remember her with gratitude

But no regret, as I lie here. The dawn

Biting the desert-edge shall not disturb me,

Nor green oases zigzagged through the heat

Like stepping-stones. The many-coloured hills,

Heaven's mutable emotions, these are past.

Beyond them I shall find security

Of tenure in the outstretched hands of God."

Thereat his fellows made lament, and urged:

"Sleep on and take your rest, but not for ever.

Time adds to strength, and you shall rise with us

Who wait. Already we foresee the coast.

A little while...." Slave Obeidullah raised

Himself and looked ahead with shining eyes:

"The moon is faint. A dust-cloud swirls.Therein I see dim marching hosts:Strange embassies and dancing girls,Spice-caravans and pilgrims. GhostsRise thick from this else fruitless plain,A waste that every season chars.Yet teeming centuries lie slainAnd trodden in the road to Fars.

"The moon is faint. A dust-cloud swirls.

Therein I see dim marching hosts:

Strange embassies and dancing girls,

Spice-caravans and pilgrims. Ghosts

Rise thick from this else fruitless plain,

A waste that every season chars.

Yet teeming centuries lie slain

And trodden in the road to Fars.

"The still, white, creeping road slips on,Marked by the bones of man and beast.What comeliness and might have goneTo pad the highway of the East!Long dynasties of fallen rose,The glories of a thousand wars,A million lovers' hearts composeThe dust upon the road to Fars.

"The still, white, creeping road slips on,

Marked by the bones of man and beast.

What comeliness and might have gone

To pad the highway of the East!

Long dynasties of fallen rose,

The glories of a thousand wars,

A million lovers' hearts compose

The dust upon the road to Fars.

"No tears have ever served to holdThis shifting velvet, fathom-deep,Though vain and ceaseless winds have rolledIts pile wherein the ages sleep.Between your fingers you may siftKings, poets, priests andcharvadars.Heaven knows how many make a driftOf dust upon the road to Fars.

"No tears have ever served to hold

This shifting velvet, fathom-deep,

Though vain and ceaseless winds have rolled

Its pile wherein the ages sleep.

Between your fingers you may sift

Kings, poets, priests andcharvadars.

Heaven knows how many make a drift

Of dust upon the road to Fars.

"The wraiths subside. And, One with All,Soon, in the brevity of length,Our lives shall hear the voiceless callThat builds this earth of love and strength.Eternal, breathless, we shall wait,Till, last of all the Avatars,God finds us in his first estate:The dust upon the road to Fars."

"The wraiths subside. And, One with All,

Soon, in the brevity of length,

Our lives shall hear the voiceless call

That builds this earth of love and strength.

Eternal, breathless, we shall wait,

Till, last of all the Avatars,

God finds us in his first estate:

The dust upon the road to Fars."

So still he lay, so still the pilgrims deemedHe was no longer there. The deepening shadeCovered him softly. With his latest breathSlave Obeidullah looked upon the Queen:

So still he lay, so still the pilgrims deemed

He was no longer there. The deepening shade

Covered him softly. With his latest breath

Slave Obeidullah looked upon the Queen:

"You whom I loved so steadfastly,If all the blest should ask to seeThe cause for which my spirit cameAmong them with so little claimTo peace, this book should speak for me.

"You whom I loved so steadfastly,

If all the blest should ask to see

The cause for which my spirit came

Among them with so little claim

To peace, this book should speak for me.

"I strove and only asked in feeHope of your immortalityNot mine—I had no other aimYou whom I loved.

"I strove and only asked in fee

Hope of your immortality

Not mine—I had no other aim

You whom I loved.

"The Judge will bend to hear my plea,And take my songs upon his knee.Perhaps His hand will make the lameWorthy to worship you, the sameAs here they vainly tried to be,You whom I loved."

"The Judge will bend to hear my plea,

And take my songs upon his knee.

Perhaps His hand will make the lame

Worthy to worship you, the same

As here they vainly tried to be,

You whom I loved."

Then, turned towards her, Obeidullah slept.

VIIITHE TALE OF THE CHEAPJACKAmong the fruit-trees still he slumbers. AllMourned for their brother with one heavy heart.Even Tous drooped, swaying weakly in his stride;Until Farid Bahadur, cheapjack, spoke,One bootlessly afoot whose years had broughtFor profit this, to see existence clearAnd empty as a solid ball of glass.Erstwhile, he said, my peddling carried meClean through two empires like a paper hoop,Setting me down upon the olive slopesWhere Smyrna nestles back to mother earth,And so lures in the ocean. I filled my packWith kerchiefs, beads, dross, chaffering with a Greek,Although he vowed a much-loved partner's deathLeft him no heart for it. He blew his nose,Asking strange prices as a man distraught.I had no heart to bargain while he crooned:"Our loves were woven of one splendid thread,But not our lives, though we had been, we twain,Linked as in worship at the Spartan faneOf him who brought his brother from the dead.Ah, would our God were like his gods that said:Such love as this shall not have flowered in vain,And let the younger Castor live againThe space that Pollux lay with Death instead.Dear, I had lain so gladly in the graveNot for a part of time but for God's wholeEternity, had died, yea oft, to saveNot half your life, but one short hour. Your soulWas all too pure; mine had no right to askFrom heaven such mercy as a saviour's task."They say the Olympian grace was not contentWith housing Death, but giving Love the key.It set the troths that guided you and meAmong the jewels of the firmament;And there they dwell for ever and assentTo each propitious ploughing of the sea.The coasting-pilots of InfinityWell know The Brothers. So your sails were bent,Young fathomer of the blue. I linger hereWith following gaze that tugs my heart-strings tautAll day; but every night an ArgonautSlips through the streets and darkness, seaward, farBeyond the limitations of his sphereInto the vacant place beside a star."So crooned he desolate in his dim shop,Till I became all ears and had no eyes.The fellow cheated me of threedinars.

Among the fruit-trees still he slumbers. AllMourned for their brother with one heavy heart.Even Tous drooped, swaying weakly in his stride;Until Farid Bahadur, cheapjack, spoke,One bootlessly afoot whose years had broughtFor profit this, to see existence clearAnd empty as a solid ball of glass.Erstwhile, he said, my peddling carried meClean through two empires like a paper hoop,Setting me down upon the olive slopesWhere Smyrna nestles back to mother earth,And so lures in the ocean. I filled my packWith kerchiefs, beads, dross, chaffering with a Greek,Although he vowed a much-loved partner's deathLeft him no heart for it. He blew his nose,Asking strange prices as a man distraught.I had no heart to bargain while he crooned:"Our loves were woven of one splendid thread,But not our lives, though we had been, we twain,Linked as in worship at the Spartan faneOf him who brought his brother from the dead.Ah, would our God were like his gods that said:Such love as this shall not have flowered in vain,And let the younger Castor live againThe space that Pollux lay with Death instead.Dear, I had lain so gladly in the graveNot for a part of time but for God's wholeEternity, had died, yea oft, to saveNot half your life, but one short hour. Your soulWas all too pure; mine had no right to askFrom heaven such mercy as a saviour's task."They say the Olympian grace was not contentWith housing Death, but giving Love the key.It set the troths that guided you and meAmong the jewels of the firmament;And there they dwell for ever and assentTo each propitious ploughing of the sea.The coasting-pilots of InfinityWell know The Brothers. So your sails were bent,Young fathomer of the blue. I linger hereWith following gaze that tugs my heart-strings tautAll day; but every night an ArgonautSlips through the streets and darkness, seaward, farBeyond the limitations of his sphereInto the vacant place beside a star."So crooned he desolate in his dim shop,Till I became all ears and had no eyes.The fellow cheated me of threedinars.

Among the fruit-trees still he slumbers. All

Mourned for their brother with one heavy heart.

Even Tous drooped, swaying weakly in his stride;

Until Farid Bahadur, cheapjack, spoke,

One bootlessly afoot whose years had brought

For profit this, to see existence clear

And empty as a solid ball of glass.

Erstwhile, he said, my peddling carried meClean through two empires like a paper hoop,Setting me down upon the olive slopesWhere Smyrna nestles back to mother earth,And so lures in the ocean. I filled my packWith kerchiefs, beads, dross, chaffering with a Greek,Although he vowed a much-loved partner's deathLeft him no heart for it. He blew his nose,Asking strange prices as a man distraught.I had no heart to bargain while he crooned:

Erstwhile, he said, my peddling carried me

Clean through two empires like a paper hoop,

Setting me down upon the olive slopes

Where Smyrna nestles back to mother earth,

And so lures in the ocean. I filled my pack

With kerchiefs, beads, dross, chaffering with a Greek,

Although he vowed a much-loved partner's death

Left him no heart for it. He blew his nose,

Asking strange prices as a man distraught.

I had no heart to bargain while he crooned:

"Our loves were woven of one splendid thread,But not our lives, though we had been, we twain,Linked as in worship at the Spartan faneOf him who brought his brother from the dead.Ah, would our God were like his gods that said:Such love as this shall not have flowered in vain,And let the younger Castor live againThe space that Pollux lay with Death instead.Dear, I had lain so gladly in the graveNot for a part of time but for God's wholeEternity, had died, yea oft, to saveNot half your life, but one short hour. Your soulWas all too pure; mine had no right to askFrom heaven such mercy as a saviour's task.

"Our loves were woven of one splendid thread,

But not our lives, though we had been, we twain,

Linked as in worship at the Spartan fane

Of him who brought his brother from the dead.

Ah, would our God were like his gods that said:

Such love as this shall not have flowered in vain,

And let the younger Castor live again

The space that Pollux lay with Death instead.

Dear, I had lain so gladly in the grave

Not for a part of time but for God's whole

Eternity, had died, yea oft, to save

Not half your life, but one short hour. Your soul

Was all too pure; mine had no right to ask

From heaven such mercy as a saviour's task.

"They say the Olympian grace was not contentWith housing Death, but giving Love the key.It set the troths that guided you and meAmong the jewels of the firmament;And there they dwell for ever and assentTo each propitious ploughing of the sea.The coasting-pilots of InfinityWell know The Brothers. So your sails were bent,Young fathomer of the blue. I linger hereWith following gaze that tugs my heart-strings tautAll day; but every night an ArgonautSlips through the streets and darkness, seaward, farBeyond the limitations of his sphereInto the vacant place beside a star."

"They say the Olympian grace was not content

With housing Death, but giving Love the key.

It set the troths that guided you and me

Among the jewels of the firmament;

And there they dwell for ever and assent

To each propitious ploughing of the sea.

The coasting-pilots of Infinity

Well know The Brothers. So your sails were bent,

Young fathomer of the blue. I linger here

With following gaze that tugs my heart-strings taut

All day; but every night an Argonaut

Slips through the streets and darkness, seaward, far

Beyond the limitations of his sphere

Into the vacant place beside a star."

So crooned he desolate in his dim shop,Till I became all ears and had no eyes.The fellow cheated me of threedinars.

So crooned he desolate in his dim shop,

Till I became all ears and had no eyes.

The fellow cheated me of threedinars.

IXTHE EXPERIENCE OF THE DOORSlow into Kum the Glaring trailedThe caravan. Its courage failedA moment. Only dust-clouds veiledThe sun, that overheadFrom fields The Plough had turned to grain,Star-honey laden on The WainAnd spices from the wind-domain,Was baking angel-bread.(Astronomers in Baghdad sayThat Allah gave the Milky WayTo feed his guests, the dead.)Even as the dead the pilgrims layUntil the sun received his pay—Man counts in gold, but he in grey—Then, whining as one daft,A voice crept to each sleeper's ear,And one by one sat up to hearIt soughing like a Seistan mereWhere nothing ever laughed.A blur at elbow on the floorCried: "Sleep! 'Tis but the tavern doorAmoaning in the draught.""Ay," said the master of the inn,"A black-faced gaper that lets inThe dark, my creditors, and kin!Last month it strained my wrist, didThe lout, so hard it slams. This weekClaims it for fuel. See the leakOf air it springs! Its hinges creak,Its wood is warped and twisted.'Tis heavy-hearted as a man,Stark, crazy thing!... It feels uncann...."The wheezing voice persisted."Earth bare me in Mazanderan,Where, breaking her dead level plan,Steep foliage opens like a fanTo hide her virgin blush;And singing, caravan, like youBrooks dance towards the Caspian bluePast coolth wherein mauve turtles cooTo panthers in the rush,That turn hill-pools to amethyst.Here bucks drink deep and tigers trystNeck-deep in grasses lush."And there the stainless peaks are kissedBy heaven whose crowning mercy, mist,With cloud-lands white as Allah's fistAnoints their heads with rain.We never dreamed, where nature pours,That life could run as thin as yours—A waif thirst-stricken to all fours—Or verdure, but a veinIn sandscapes wincing from the sunThat burns your flesh and visions dun,Crawl throbbing through the plain."I grew. My shadow weighed a ton;I held a countless garrison;My boughs were roads for apes to runAround the white owl's niche.The hum of bees, the blue jay's scream....The forest came to love and teemIn me beside the vivid streamShot through with speckled fish;Till, weary of my sheltered glen,I craved a human denizenFate granted me my wish."Yea, I had longed (if slope and fenCan love like this, the love of menMust live above our nature's ken)To see and shade the room,To shield far-leaning the abode,Wherein the souls of lovers glowedTo songs that dimmed the bulbul's ode ...And man became my doom.He dragged me through the dew-drenched brake,And took the heart of me to makeA tavern-door at Kum."The pilgrims sat erect, engrossed,Or searched the crannies for a ghost."Ah, heed it not," implored the host;"This hell-burnt father's sonMoans ever like a soul oppressed,And takes the fancy of a guest,And makes my house no house of rest:I would its voice were gone.Yet be indulgent, sirs! 'Tis old.Next week it shall be burnt or sold.A new—" The voice went on:"Here have I stood while life unrolledBut not the tale my breezes told.Moonlight alone conceals the coldDrab city's lack of heart.Here have I watched an hundred yearsBespatter me with blood and tears,Yet leave man ever in arrearsOf where my monkeys start.No more, dog-rose and meadow-sweet!The harlot's musk and rotten meatBlow at me from the mart."No more, clear streams and fairy feet!But through my mouth the striving streetDrains in brown spate the men who eatAnd drink and curse and die;And out of me the whole night longReel revellers—O God, their song!...Are there no mortals clean and strong,Or do they pass me by?I little thought that I should leaveFor this the groves where turtles grieveFar closer to the sky."Instead of every song-bird's noteI know the scales a merchant's throatCan compass. I have learned by roteThe tricks of Copt and Jew;Can tell if Lur or Afghan brawls,The Armenian way of selling shawlsSoftly, and how an Arab bawlsTo rouse the raider's crew,Lest ululating strings of slavesShould take the kennel for their graves....Raids! I have seen a few,"Or wars, occasion dubs them—wavesOf Mongol sultans, Kurdish braves.They—Find me words! the Simûnraves—They worked ... 'tis called their will,Battered me in—behold the dint—With all their hearts that felt like flint,Besmeared the city with the tintOf sunset on my hill.My leopards stalk my bucks at eve—I shivered as I heard them heave—At least they ate their kill."I followed that.... But men who weaveSuch flowing robes of make-believe,I think the flood was wept by Eve—Some sportsman shot the dove—These puzzled me, for God is goodAnd man His image—not of wood,Thank God!—At last I understoodAll ... all except their love.I grew so hard that I could traceHis hand's chief glory in their race.Perhaps He wore a glove."Then one without made haste to smiteThe malcontent. It opened. NightStood on the threshold dressed in white,And myriad-eyed and blind.The ostler murmured: "SomeAfritOr bitter worm has entered it;Nor jamb nor lintel seems to fit.I know its frame of mind.""Air stirs the dust upon the floor,"The landlord cried. "Fool! Shut that doorAmoaning in the wind.""My glade was deep, a lichened wellOf ether, limpid as a bellBuoyed on the manifold ground-swellWhose distance changed attiresAs sun-stroked plush, a roundelayOf all red-blue and purple grey,And, at each rise and fall of day,Snows dyed like altar firesLicked through those loud green sheaves of copse,Bent hyphens 'twixt the mountain-tops,Mosques of my motley choirs."And I, who gave them bed and bowerFor nights enduring but an hourMid blaring miles of trumpet-flower,Leagues of liana-wreath,I saw the rocks through leaves and lings,Could blink the fangs and feel the wings,Thrill with the elemental thingsOf life and love and death.The purity of air and brookAnd song helped me to overlookThe rapine underneath."But you—no! one dream more: an elf,Askip on ochre mountain-shelf,Who once had seen a man himself.I used his wand to gaugeThe sheen of moths and peacocks' whir,To plumb the jungle-aisles, to stirThe drifts of frankincense and myrrh,And amorous lithe shapes that purr....'Tis finished. Turn the pageTo where man cased his bones in fat.His mate moved like a tiger-catUntil he built her cage."You, I have watched you all who satSuccessive round the food-stained mat,And reckoned many who lived for thatAlone; have seen the markOf that last state the Thinking BeastPeep through the foliage of the feast,And crown its poet's flight with greasedFingers that grope the dark;Have heard a cleanlier bosom catchHer breath, and fumble with my latchIrresolute. The lark"My inmates never feared to matchBespoke the end. I belched the batch,Rolling them down the street, a patchOf dirt against the dawn.Then in its stead there came a saint,Inventor of a soul-complaint,Who gave men's faith a coat of paintLike mine, and made me yawnWith furtive wenching. Here have sighedExultant groom and weeping brideLed like a captive fawn."This way passed those who marry leanGirl-chattels ere their times of teen.I knew a like but milder scene:A hawk, small birds that cower.How soon the chosen was brought back dead—Poisoned, thehakimalways said—The husband groaned beside the bed,Arose, and kept the dower,But swept his conscience out with prayer.Man took the angels unawareWhen he became a power."And what of woman? On my stairThe merchants spread their gaudiest ware,For which fools bought a love affairThat ended in a jerk.Enough! To round thetamashaA bloated thing came by, the Shah;It grinned, and viziers fawned 'Ha! ha!'Curs, brainless as a Turk.And all the women in his trainBeheld him once and ne'er again,And called his love their work."You see, my friends, I tired of thisWild doubling in the chase of bliss.Pards miss their spring as men their kiss,And yet the quarry dies.I learned the world's least mortal god,Whose epitaph is Ichabod,May sport till noon, but if he nodShall never more arise.Then, caravan, you passed, and IHave solved my riddle with a cry:The sad are never wise."Your song was all that I had heardIn dreams beyond the wildest bird,That rose above my yellow-furredBasses that bell and roar.It took the heart of me in towTo heights that I had longed to know,To the great deeps where lovers goAnd find—and want—no shore.In these alone is man fulfilled;And gleaming in the air I buildMy hope of him once more."For all the few that see truth whole,And take its endlessness for goal,And steer by stars as if no shoalCould mar their firmament,For all the few that sing and sailKnowing their quest of small avail,Thank God who gave them strength to failIn finding what He meant....""Poets!" the landlord groaned, "and poor!This house is cursed." He banged the doorBehind them as they went.And distance placed soft hands upon their mouths.

Slow into Kum the Glaring trailedThe caravan. Its courage failedA moment. Only dust-clouds veiledThe sun, that overheadFrom fields The Plough had turned to grain,Star-honey laden on The WainAnd spices from the wind-domain,Was baking angel-bread.(Astronomers in Baghdad sayThat Allah gave the Milky WayTo feed his guests, the dead.)Even as the dead the pilgrims layUntil the sun received his pay—Man counts in gold, but he in grey—Then, whining as one daft,A voice crept to each sleeper's ear,And one by one sat up to hearIt soughing like a Seistan mereWhere nothing ever laughed.A blur at elbow on the floorCried: "Sleep! 'Tis but the tavern doorAmoaning in the draught.""Ay," said the master of the inn,"A black-faced gaper that lets inThe dark, my creditors, and kin!Last month it strained my wrist, didThe lout, so hard it slams. This weekClaims it for fuel. See the leakOf air it springs! Its hinges creak,Its wood is warped and twisted.'Tis heavy-hearted as a man,Stark, crazy thing!... It feels uncann...."The wheezing voice persisted."Earth bare me in Mazanderan,Where, breaking her dead level plan,Steep foliage opens like a fanTo hide her virgin blush;And singing, caravan, like youBrooks dance towards the Caspian bluePast coolth wherein mauve turtles cooTo panthers in the rush,That turn hill-pools to amethyst.Here bucks drink deep and tigers trystNeck-deep in grasses lush."And there the stainless peaks are kissedBy heaven whose crowning mercy, mist,With cloud-lands white as Allah's fistAnoints their heads with rain.We never dreamed, where nature pours,That life could run as thin as yours—A waif thirst-stricken to all fours—Or verdure, but a veinIn sandscapes wincing from the sunThat burns your flesh and visions dun,Crawl throbbing through the plain."I grew. My shadow weighed a ton;I held a countless garrison;My boughs were roads for apes to runAround the white owl's niche.The hum of bees, the blue jay's scream....The forest came to love and teemIn me beside the vivid streamShot through with speckled fish;Till, weary of my sheltered glen,I craved a human denizenFate granted me my wish."Yea, I had longed (if slope and fenCan love like this, the love of menMust live above our nature's ken)To see and shade the room,To shield far-leaning the abode,Wherein the souls of lovers glowedTo songs that dimmed the bulbul's ode ...And man became my doom.He dragged me through the dew-drenched brake,And took the heart of me to makeA tavern-door at Kum."The pilgrims sat erect, engrossed,Or searched the crannies for a ghost."Ah, heed it not," implored the host;"This hell-burnt father's sonMoans ever like a soul oppressed,And takes the fancy of a guest,And makes my house no house of rest:I would its voice were gone.Yet be indulgent, sirs! 'Tis old.Next week it shall be burnt or sold.A new—" The voice went on:"Here have I stood while life unrolledBut not the tale my breezes told.Moonlight alone conceals the coldDrab city's lack of heart.Here have I watched an hundred yearsBespatter me with blood and tears,Yet leave man ever in arrearsOf where my monkeys start.No more, dog-rose and meadow-sweet!The harlot's musk and rotten meatBlow at me from the mart."No more, clear streams and fairy feet!But through my mouth the striving streetDrains in brown spate the men who eatAnd drink and curse and die;And out of me the whole night longReel revellers—O God, their song!...Are there no mortals clean and strong,Or do they pass me by?I little thought that I should leaveFor this the groves where turtles grieveFar closer to the sky."Instead of every song-bird's noteI know the scales a merchant's throatCan compass. I have learned by roteThe tricks of Copt and Jew;Can tell if Lur or Afghan brawls,The Armenian way of selling shawlsSoftly, and how an Arab bawlsTo rouse the raider's crew,Lest ululating strings of slavesShould take the kennel for their graves....Raids! I have seen a few,"Or wars, occasion dubs them—wavesOf Mongol sultans, Kurdish braves.They—Find me words! the Simûnraves—They worked ... 'tis called their will,Battered me in—behold the dint—With all their hearts that felt like flint,Besmeared the city with the tintOf sunset on my hill.My leopards stalk my bucks at eve—I shivered as I heard them heave—At least they ate their kill."I followed that.... But men who weaveSuch flowing robes of make-believe,I think the flood was wept by Eve—Some sportsman shot the dove—These puzzled me, for God is goodAnd man His image—not of wood,Thank God!—At last I understoodAll ... all except their love.I grew so hard that I could traceHis hand's chief glory in their race.Perhaps He wore a glove."Then one without made haste to smiteThe malcontent. It opened. NightStood on the threshold dressed in white,And myriad-eyed and blind.The ostler murmured: "SomeAfritOr bitter worm has entered it;Nor jamb nor lintel seems to fit.I know its frame of mind.""Air stirs the dust upon the floor,"The landlord cried. "Fool! Shut that doorAmoaning in the wind.""My glade was deep, a lichened wellOf ether, limpid as a bellBuoyed on the manifold ground-swellWhose distance changed attiresAs sun-stroked plush, a roundelayOf all red-blue and purple grey,And, at each rise and fall of day,Snows dyed like altar firesLicked through those loud green sheaves of copse,Bent hyphens 'twixt the mountain-tops,Mosques of my motley choirs."And I, who gave them bed and bowerFor nights enduring but an hourMid blaring miles of trumpet-flower,Leagues of liana-wreath,I saw the rocks through leaves and lings,Could blink the fangs and feel the wings,Thrill with the elemental thingsOf life and love and death.The purity of air and brookAnd song helped me to overlookThe rapine underneath."But you—no! one dream more: an elf,Askip on ochre mountain-shelf,Who once had seen a man himself.I used his wand to gaugeThe sheen of moths and peacocks' whir,To plumb the jungle-aisles, to stirThe drifts of frankincense and myrrh,And amorous lithe shapes that purr....'Tis finished. Turn the pageTo where man cased his bones in fat.His mate moved like a tiger-catUntil he built her cage."You, I have watched you all who satSuccessive round the food-stained mat,And reckoned many who lived for thatAlone; have seen the markOf that last state the Thinking BeastPeep through the foliage of the feast,And crown its poet's flight with greasedFingers that grope the dark;Have heard a cleanlier bosom catchHer breath, and fumble with my latchIrresolute. The lark"My inmates never feared to matchBespoke the end. I belched the batch,Rolling them down the street, a patchOf dirt against the dawn.Then in its stead there came a saint,Inventor of a soul-complaint,Who gave men's faith a coat of paintLike mine, and made me yawnWith furtive wenching. Here have sighedExultant groom and weeping brideLed like a captive fawn."This way passed those who marry leanGirl-chattels ere their times of teen.I knew a like but milder scene:A hawk, small birds that cower.How soon the chosen was brought back dead—Poisoned, thehakimalways said—The husband groaned beside the bed,Arose, and kept the dower,But swept his conscience out with prayer.Man took the angels unawareWhen he became a power."And what of woman? On my stairThe merchants spread their gaudiest ware,For which fools bought a love affairThat ended in a jerk.Enough! To round thetamashaA bloated thing came by, the Shah;It grinned, and viziers fawned 'Ha! ha!'Curs, brainless as a Turk.And all the women in his trainBeheld him once and ne'er again,And called his love their work."You see, my friends, I tired of thisWild doubling in the chase of bliss.Pards miss their spring as men their kiss,And yet the quarry dies.I learned the world's least mortal god,Whose epitaph is Ichabod,May sport till noon, but if he nodShall never more arise.Then, caravan, you passed, and IHave solved my riddle with a cry:The sad are never wise."Your song was all that I had heardIn dreams beyond the wildest bird,That rose above my yellow-furredBasses that bell and roar.It took the heart of me in towTo heights that I had longed to know,To the great deeps where lovers goAnd find—and want—no shore.In these alone is man fulfilled;And gleaming in the air I buildMy hope of him once more."For all the few that see truth whole,And take its endlessness for goal,And steer by stars as if no shoalCould mar their firmament,For all the few that sing and sailKnowing their quest of small avail,Thank God who gave them strength to failIn finding what He meant....""Poets!" the landlord groaned, "and poor!This house is cursed." He banged the doorBehind them as they went.And distance placed soft hands upon their mouths.

Slow into Kum the Glaring trailed

The caravan. Its courage failed

A moment. Only dust-clouds veiled

The sun, that overhead

From fields The Plough had turned to grain,

Star-honey laden on The Wain

And spices from the wind-domain,

Was baking angel-bread.

(Astronomers in Baghdad say

That Allah gave the Milky Way

To feed his guests, the dead.)

Even as the dead the pilgrims layUntil the sun received his pay—Man counts in gold, but he in grey—Then, whining as one daft,A voice crept to each sleeper's ear,And one by one sat up to hearIt soughing like a Seistan mereWhere nothing ever laughed.A blur at elbow on the floorCried: "Sleep! 'Tis but the tavern doorAmoaning in the draught."

Even as the dead the pilgrims lay

Until the sun received his pay—

Man counts in gold, but he in grey—

Then, whining as one daft,

A voice crept to each sleeper's ear,

And one by one sat up to hear

It soughing like a Seistan mere

Where nothing ever laughed.

A blur at elbow on the floor

Cried: "Sleep! 'Tis but the tavern door

Amoaning in the draught."

"Ay," said the master of the inn,"A black-faced gaper that lets inThe dark, my creditors, and kin!Last month it strained my wrist, didThe lout, so hard it slams. This weekClaims it for fuel. See the leakOf air it springs! Its hinges creak,Its wood is warped and twisted.'Tis heavy-hearted as a man,Stark, crazy thing!... It feels uncann...."The wheezing voice persisted.

"Ay," said the master of the inn,

"A black-faced gaper that lets in

The dark, my creditors, and kin!

Last month it strained my wrist, did

The lout, so hard it slams. This week

Claims it for fuel. See the leak

Of air it springs! Its hinges creak,

Its wood is warped and twisted.

'Tis heavy-hearted as a man,

Stark, crazy thing!... It feels uncann...."

The wheezing voice persisted.

"Earth bare me in Mazanderan,Where, breaking her dead level plan,Steep foliage opens like a fanTo hide her virgin blush;And singing, caravan, like youBrooks dance towards the Caspian bluePast coolth wherein mauve turtles cooTo panthers in the rush,That turn hill-pools to amethyst.Here bucks drink deep and tigers trystNeck-deep in grasses lush.

"Earth bare me in Mazanderan,

Where, breaking her dead level plan,

Steep foliage opens like a fan

To hide her virgin blush;

And singing, caravan, like you

Brooks dance towards the Caspian blue

Past coolth wherein mauve turtles coo

To panthers in the rush,

That turn hill-pools to amethyst.

Here bucks drink deep and tigers tryst

Neck-deep in grasses lush.

"And there the stainless peaks are kissedBy heaven whose crowning mercy, mist,With cloud-lands white as Allah's fistAnoints their heads with rain.We never dreamed, where nature pours,That life could run as thin as yours—A waif thirst-stricken to all fours—Or verdure, but a veinIn sandscapes wincing from the sunThat burns your flesh and visions dun,Crawl throbbing through the plain.

"And there the stainless peaks are kissed

By heaven whose crowning mercy, mist,

With cloud-lands white as Allah's fist

Anoints their heads with rain.

We never dreamed, where nature pours,

That life could run as thin as yours—

A waif thirst-stricken to all fours—

Or verdure, but a vein

In sandscapes wincing from the sun

That burns your flesh and visions dun,

Crawl throbbing through the plain.

"I grew. My shadow weighed a ton;I held a countless garrison;My boughs were roads for apes to runAround the white owl's niche.The hum of bees, the blue jay's scream....The forest came to love and teemIn me beside the vivid streamShot through with speckled fish;Till, weary of my sheltered glen,I craved a human denizenFate granted me my wish.

"I grew. My shadow weighed a ton;

I held a countless garrison;

My boughs were roads for apes to run

Around the white owl's niche.

The hum of bees, the blue jay's scream....

The forest came to love and teem

In me beside the vivid stream

Shot through with speckled fish;

Till, weary of my sheltered glen,

I craved a human denizen

Fate granted me my wish.

"Yea, I had longed (if slope and fenCan love like this, the love of menMust live above our nature's ken)To see and shade the room,To shield far-leaning the abode,Wherein the souls of lovers glowedTo songs that dimmed the bulbul's ode ...And man became my doom.He dragged me through the dew-drenched brake,And took the heart of me to makeA tavern-door at Kum."

"Yea, I had longed (if slope and fen

Can love like this, the love of men

Must live above our nature's ken)

To see and shade the room,

To shield far-leaning the abode,

Wherein the souls of lovers glowed

To songs that dimmed the bulbul's ode ...

And man became my doom.

He dragged me through the dew-drenched brake,

And took the heart of me to make

A tavern-door at Kum."

The pilgrims sat erect, engrossed,Or searched the crannies for a ghost."Ah, heed it not," implored the host;"This hell-burnt father's sonMoans ever like a soul oppressed,And takes the fancy of a guest,And makes my house no house of rest:I would its voice were gone.Yet be indulgent, sirs! 'Tis old.Next week it shall be burnt or sold.A new—" The voice went on:

The pilgrims sat erect, engrossed,

Or searched the crannies for a ghost.

"Ah, heed it not," implored the host;

"This hell-burnt father's son

Moans ever like a soul oppressed,

And takes the fancy of a guest,

And makes my house no house of rest:

I would its voice were gone.

Yet be indulgent, sirs! 'Tis old.

Next week it shall be burnt or sold.

A new—" The voice went on:

"Here have I stood while life unrolledBut not the tale my breezes told.Moonlight alone conceals the coldDrab city's lack of heart.Here have I watched an hundred yearsBespatter me with blood and tears,Yet leave man ever in arrearsOf where my monkeys start.No more, dog-rose and meadow-sweet!The harlot's musk and rotten meatBlow at me from the mart.

"Here have I stood while life unrolled

But not the tale my breezes told.

Moonlight alone conceals the cold

Drab city's lack of heart.

Here have I watched an hundred years

Bespatter me with blood and tears,

Yet leave man ever in arrears

Of where my monkeys start.

No more, dog-rose and meadow-sweet!

The harlot's musk and rotten meat

Blow at me from the mart.

"No more, clear streams and fairy feet!But through my mouth the striving streetDrains in brown spate the men who eatAnd drink and curse and die;And out of me the whole night longReel revellers—O God, their song!...Are there no mortals clean and strong,Or do they pass me by?I little thought that I should leaveFor this the groves where turtles grieveFar closer to the sky.

"No more, clear streams and fairy feet!

But through my mouth the striving street

Drains in brown spate the men who eat

And drink and curse and die;

And out of me the whole night long

Reel revellers—O God, their song!...

Are there no mortals clean and strong,

Or do they pass me by?

I little thought that I should leave

For this the groves where turtles grieve

Far closer to the sky.

"Instead of every song-bird's noteI know the scales a merchant's throatCan compass. I have learned by roteThe tricks of Copt and Jew;Can tell if Lur or Afghan brawls,The Armenian way of selling shawlsSoftly, and how an Arab bawlsTo rouse the raider's crew,Lest ululating strings of slavesShould take the kennel for their graves....Raids! I have seen a few,

"Instead of every song-bird's note

I know the scales a merchant's throat

Can compass. I have learned by rote

The tricks of Copt and Jew;

Can tell if Lur or Afghan brawls,

The Armenian way of selling shawls

Softly, and how an Arab bawls

To rouse the raider's crew,

Lest ululating strings of slaves

Should take the kennel for their graves....

Raids! I have seen a few,

"Or wars, occasion dubs them—wavesOf Mongol sultans, Kurdish braves.They—Find me words! the Simûnraves—They worked ... 'tis called their will,Battered me in—behold the dint—With all their hearts that felt like flint,Besmeared the city with the tintOf sunset on my hill.My leopards stalk my bucks at eve—I shivered as I heard them heave—At least they ate their kill.

"Or wars, occasion dubs them—waves

Of Mongol sultans, Kurdish braves.

They—Find me words! the Simûnraves—

They worked ... 'tis called their will,

Battered me in—behold the dint—

With all their hearts that felt like flint,

Besmeared the city with the tint

Of sunset on my hill.

My leopards stalk my bucks at eve—

I shivered as I heard them heave—

At least they ate their kill.

"I followed that.... But men who weaveSuch flowing robes of make-believe,I think the flood was wept by Eve—Some sportsman shot the dove—These puzzled me, for God is goodAnd man His image—not of wood,Thank God!—At last I understoodAll ... all except their love.I grew so hard that I could traceHis hand's chief glory in their race.Perhaps He wore a glove."

"I followed that.... But men who weave

Such flowing robes of make-believe,

I think the flood was wept by Eve—

Some sportsman shot the dove—

These puzzled me, for God is good

And man His image—not of wood,

Thank God!—At last I understood

All ... all except their love.

I grew so hard that I could trace

His hand's chief glory in their race.

Perhaps He wore a glove."

Then one without made haste to smiteThe malcontent. It opened. NightStood on the threshold dressed in white,And myriad-eyed and blind.The ostler murmured: "SomeAfritOr bitter worm has entered it;Nor jamb nor lintel seems to fit.I know its frame of mind.""Air stirs the dust upon the floor,"The landlord cried. "Fool! Shut that doorAmoaning in the wind."

Then one without made haste to smite

The malcontent. It opened. Night

Stood on the threshold dressed in white,

And myriad-eyed and blind.

The ostler murmured: "SomeAfrit

Or bitter worm has entered it;

Nor jamb nor lintel seems to fit.

I know its frame of mind."

"Air stirs the dust upon the floor,"

The landlord cried. "Fool! Shut that door

Amoaning in the wind."

"My glade was deep, a lichened wellOf ether, limpid as a bellBuoyed on the manifold ground-swellWhose distance changed attiresAs sun-stroked plush, a roundelayOf all red-blue and purple grey,And, at each rise and fall of day,Snows dyed like altar firesLicked through those loud green sheaves of copse,Bent hyphens 'twixt the mountain-tops,Mosques of my motley choirs.

"My glade was deep, a lichened well

Of ether, limpid as a bell

Buoyed on the manifold ground-swell

Whose distance changed attires

As sun-stroked plush, a roundelay

Of all red-blue and purple grey,

And, at each rise and fall of day,

Snows dyed like altar fires

Licked through those loud green sheaves of copse,

Bent hyphens 'twixt the mountain-tops,

Mosques of my motley choirs.

"And I, who gave them bed and bowerFor nights enduring but an hourMid blaring miles of trumpet-flower,Leagues of liana-wreath,I saw the rocks through leaves and lings,Could blink the fangs and feel the wings,Thrill with the elemental thingsOf life and love and death.The purity of air and brookAnd song helped me to overlookThe rapine underneath.

"And I, who gave them bed and bower

For nights enduring but an hour

Mid blaring miles of trumpet-flower,

Leagues of liana-wreath,

I saw the rocks through leaves and lings,

Could blink the fangs and feel the wings,

Thrill with the elemental things

Of life and love and death.

The purity of air and brook

And song helped me to overlook

The rapine underneath.

"But you—no! one dream more: an elf,Askip on ochre mountain-shelf,Who once had seen a man himself.I used his wand to gaugeThe sheen of moths and peacocks' whir,To plumb the jungle-aisles, to stirThe drifts of frankincense and myrrh,And amorous lithe shapes that purr....'Tis finished. Turn the pageTo where man cased his bones in fat.His mate moved like a tiger-catUntil he built her cage.

"But you—no! one dream more: an elf,

Askip on ochre mountain-shelf,

Who once had seen a man himself.

I used his wand to gauge

The sheen of moths and peacocks' whir,

To plumb the jungle-aisles, to stir

The drifts of frankincense and myrrh,

And amorous lithe shapes that purr....

'Tis finished. Turn the page

To where man cased his bones in fat.

His mate moved like a tiger-cat

Until he built her cage.

"You, I have watched you all who satSuccessive round the food-stained mat,And reckoned many who lived for thatAlone; have seen the markOf that last state the Thinking BeastPeep through the foliage of the feast,And crown its poet's flight with greasedFingers that grope the dark;Have heard a cleanlier bosom catchHer breath, and fumble with my latchIrresolute. The lark

"You, I have watched you all who sat

Successive round the food-stained mat,

And reckoned many who lived for that

Alone; have seen the mark

Of that last state the Thinking Beast

Peep through the foliage of the feast,

And crown its poet's flight with greased

Fingers that grope the dark;

Have heard a cleanlier bosom catch

Her breath, and fumble with my latch

Irresolute. The lark

"My inmates never feared to matchBespoke the end. I belched the batch,Rolling them down the street, a patchOf dirt against the dawn.Then in its stead there came a saint,Inventor of a soul-complaint,Who gave men's faith a coat of paintLike mine, and made me yawnWith furtive wenching. Here have sighedExultant groom and weeping brideLed like a captive fawn.

"My inmates never feared to match

Bespoke the end. I belched the batch,

Rolling them down the street, a patch

Of dirt against the dawn.

Then in its stead there came a saint,

Inventor of a soul-complaint,

Who gave men's faith a coat of paint

Like mine, and made me yawn

With furtive wenching. Here have sighed

Exultant groom and weeping bride

Led like a captive fawn.

"This way passed those who marry leanGirl-chattels ere their times of teen.I knew a like but milder scene:A hawk, small birds that cower.How soon the chosen was brought back dead—Poisoned, thehakimalways said—The husband groaned beside the bed,Arose, and kept the dower,But swept his conscience out with prayer.Man took the angels unawareWhen he became a power.

"This way passed those who marry lean

Girl-chattels ere their times of teen.

I knew a like but milder scene:

A hawk, small birds that cower.

How soon the chosen was brought back dead—

Poisoned, thehakimalways said—

The husband groaned beside the bed,

Arose, and kept the dower,

But swept his conscience out with prayer.

Man took the angels unaware

When he became a power.

"And what of woman? On my stairThe merchants spread their gaudiest ware,For which fools bought a love affairThat ended in a jerk.Enough! To round thetamashaA bloated thing came by, the Shah;It grinned, and viziers fawned 'Ha! ha!'Curs, brainless as a Turk.And all the women in his trainBeheld him once and ne'er again,And called his love their work.

"And what of woman? On my stair

The merchants spread their gaudiest ware,

For which fools bought a love affair

That ended in a jerk.

Enough! To round thetamasha

A bloated thing came by, the Shah;

It grinned, and viziers fawned 'Ha! ha!'

Curs, brainless as a Turk.

And all the women in his train

Beheld him once and ne'er again,

And called his love their work.

"You see, my friends, I tired of thisWild doubling in the chase of bliss.Pards miss their spring as men their kiss,And yet the quarry dies.I learned the world's least mortal god,Whose epitaph is Ichabod,May sport till noon, but if he nodShall never more arise.Then, caravan, you passed, and IHave solved my riddle with a cry:The sad are never wise.

"You see, my friends, I tired of this

Wild doubling in the chase of bliss.

Pards miss their spring as men their kiss,

And yet the quarry dies.

I learned the world's least mortal god,

Whose epitaph is Ichabod,

May sport till noon, but if he nod

Shall never more arise.

Then, caravan, you passed, and I

Have solved my riddle with a cry:

The sad are never wise.

"Your song was all that I had heardIn dreams beyond the wildest bird,That rose above my yellow-furredBasses that bell and roar.It took the heart of me in towTo heights that I had longed to know,To the great deeps where lovers goAnd find—and want—no shore.In these alone is man fulfilled;And gleaming in the air I buildMy hope of him once more.

"Your song was all that I had heard

In dreams beyond the wildest bird,

That rose above my yellow-furred

Basses that bell and roar.

It took the heart of me in tow

To heights that I had longed to know,

To the great deeps where lovers go

And find—and want—no shore.

In these alone is man fulfilled;

And gleaming in the air I build

My hope of him once more.

"For all the few that see truth whole,And take its endlessness for goal,And steer by stars as if no shoalCould mar their firmament,For all the few that sing and sailKnowing their quest of small avail,Thank God who gave them strength to failIn finding what He meant....""Poets!" the landlord groaned, "and poor!This house is cursed." He banged the doorBehind them as they went.

"For all the few that see truth whole,

And take its endlessness for goal,

And steer by stars as if no shoal

Could mar their firmament,

For all the few that sing and sail

Knowing their quest of small avail,

Thank God who gave them strength to fail

In finding what He meant...."

"Poets!" the landlord groaned, "and poor!

This house is cursed." He banged the door

Behind them as they went.

And distance placed soft hands upon their mouths.

XTHE SONG OF THE SELVESDREAMER-OF-THE-AGE'Twas in old Tehran City,Hard by the old bazaar,I heard a restless dittyThat pushed my door ajar;A song nor great nor witty,It spoke of my own mind.I looked on Tehran City,And knew I had been blind,Or else the streets were alteredAs by a peri's wand."Who are you, friends?" I faltered."The Pilgrims of Beyond,"They said. I kissed the tattersThat wiser heads contemn.I saw the Thing-that-matters,And took the road with them.I seek. Bestow no pityOn Failure's courtier. Say:"'Twas well to find the city,But that was yesterday."THE PILGRIMSAthirst as the Hadramut,Our spirits correspondWith God by all the gamutOf harmony, too fondOf Him for prayer that riflesHis treasury for trifles.No load of blessing stiflesThe Pilgrims of Beyond.DREAMER-OF-THE-AGEAnd yet the empty-handedHold richer merchandiseThan ever fable landedFrom Dreamland's argosies,Since we, the symbol-merchants,Are partners with Bulbul.The silversmith of her chantsKnows how our chests are full.In marts, where echoes answerAnd only they, we trade.But join our caravan, sir,And count your fortune made.Dawn brings us dazzling offersWith fingers gemmed and pearled,And evening fills our coffersAs we explain the world,Green fields and seas that curtseyTo us and mock Despair;For blossoms in the dirt seeTheir spirit in the air.And Ecstasy our servantDemands no other wageBut that we be observantTo joy in pilgrimage.THE MERCHANTSWe do not bid our masterDeclare His word His bond,Or make His payments faster—As though He would abscond!We ask Him for too littleTo strain at jot or tittle.We know our lives are brittle,We Pilgrims of Beyond.DREAMER-OF-THE-AGEWe come from everlastingTowards eternity,Ho! not in dirge and fastingBut lapped in jollity.Though sackcloth be our clothingWe bear no ash but fire.We have no sickly loathingOf youth and youth's desire.We prize no consummationOf one peculiar creed.We travel for a nation,The one that feels our need.Our tongue conceals no message,But leaves you free to find,And vaunts itself the presageOf those that come behind.THE CAMELMENHere is no patch of shade. AFierce wilderness and blondeLinks Delhi to Hodeidah,Tashkent to Trebizond.The cargo is our brother's,We march and moil for others,Until the desert smothersThe Pilgrims of Beyond.DREAMER-OF-THE-AGEHark how our camels grumbleAt morn! Would you permitThe stone on which you stumbleTo make you carry it?And if at last your burdenBe cheapened in a shop,Seraglio or Lur den,Should lack of humour stopThe game at its beginning?We lug the stuff of dreams.Earth does her best by spinning,She cannot help the seams;But you can help to mongerThe broidery. She mayHave made you richer, stronger,To give her best away.I own no musk or camphor,I have no truck with care,Nor change the thing I am forThe things men only wear.THE SOLDIERSFirst cousin of a sieve isThe uniform we donned.We slop along onghivehs,In rags caparisonned.No Shah has ever paid us.All brigands mock and raid us,And misery has made usThe Pilgrims of Beyond.DREAMER-OF-THE-AGEWhat then! Would you be willingTo quit the caravan,And fall again to drilling,Pent in the walledmeidan,When history flings openBlank scrolls for you to writeSuch victories as no penHas ever brought to light?You shall not burn as Jengiz,Nor rage like Timur Lang.Your foemen areferengisOf whom no epic sang.The housed that blame the tented,Or comfort those that think,The flocks that die contentedWith settling down to blinkThe sun we keep our eyes on,That bow their heads too farTo face their own horizon,On these be war on war.Cursed by the bonds you sever,The bondsmen you release,Go, seek the Land of FeverAnd find the Land of Ease.THE CARAVANLift up your hearts, ye singers!We lift them up in song.Behold, the sunset lingers.No less shall night be long.We meet her unaffrighted,Though never bourne be sighted.Wemeantto be benightedStill moving fleet and strong.We smooth the stony placesFor those that else despond.We pass, and leave no tracesSave this, a broken frond,And this, that hands once cravenTake hardship for the havenUpon whose rocks is graven:"The Pilgrims of Beyond."

'Twas in old Tehran City,Hard by the old bazaar,I heard a restless dittyThat pushed my door ajar;A song nor great nor witty,It spoke of my own mind.I looked on Tehran City,And knew I had been blind,Or else the streets were alteredAs by a peri's wand."Who are you, friends?" I faltered."The Pilgrims of Beyond,"They said. I kissed the tattersThat wiser heads contemn.I saw the Thing-that-matters,And took the road with them.I seek. Bestow no pityOn Failure's courtier. Say:"'Twas well to find the city,But that was yesterday."

'Twas in old Tehran City,Hard by the old bazaar,I heard a restless dittyThat pushed my door ajar;

'Twas in old Tehran City,

Hard by the old bazaar,

I heard a restless ditty

That pushed my door ajar;

A song nor great nor witty,It spoke of my own mind.I looked on Tehran City,And knew I had been blind,

A song nor great nor witty,

It spoke of my own mind.

I looked on Tehran City,

And knew I had been blind,

Or else the streets were alteredAs by a peri's wand."Who are you, friends?" I faltered."The Pilgrims of Beyond,"

Or else the streets were altered

As by a peri's wand.

"Who are you, friends?" I faltered.

"The Pilgrims of Beyond,"

They said. I kissed the tattersThat wiser heads contemn.I saw the Thing-that-matters,And took the road with them.

They said. I kissed the tatters

That wiser heads contemn.

I saw the Thing-that-matters,

And took the road with them.

I seek. Bestow no pityOn Failure's courtier. Say:"'Twas well to find the city,But that was yesterday."

I seek. Bestow no pity

On Failure's courtier. Say:

"'Twas well to find the city,

But that was yesterday."

Athirst as the Hadramut,Our spirits correspondWith God by all the gamutOf harmony, too fondOf Him for prayer that riflesHis treasury for trifles.No load of blessing stiflesThe Pilgrims of Beyond.

Athirst as the Hadramut,

Our spirits correspond

With God by all the gamut

Of harmony, too fond

Of Him for prayer that rifles

His treasury for trifles.

No load of blessing stifles

The Pilgrims of Beyond.

And yet the empty-handedHold richer merchandiseThan ever fable landedFrom Dreamland's argosies,Since we, the symbol-merchants,Are partners with Bulbul.The silversmith of her chantsKnows how our chests are full.In marts, where echoes answerAnd only they, we trade.But join our caravan, sir,And count your fortune made.Dawn brings us dazzling offersWith fingers gemmed and pearled,And evening fills our coffersAs we explain the world,Green fields and seas that curtseyTo us and mock Despair;For blossoms in the dirt seeTheir spirit in the air.And Ecstasy our servantDemands no other wageBut that we be observantTo joy in pilgrimage.

And yet the empty-handedHold richer merchandiseThan ever fable landedFrom Dreamland's argosies,

And yet the empty-handed

Hold richer merchandise

Than ever fable landed

From Dreamland's argosies,

Since we, the symbol-merchants,Are partners with Bulbul.The silversmith of her chantsKnows how our chests are full.

Since we, the symbol-merchants,

Are partners with Bulbul.

The silversmith of her chants

Knows how our chests are full.

In marts, where echoes answerAnd only they, we trade.But join our caravan, sir,And count your fortune made.

In marts, where echoes answer

And only they, we trade.

But join our caravan, sir,

And count your fortune made.

Dawn brings us dazzling offersWith fingers gemmed and pearled,And evening fills our coffersAs we explain the world,

Dawn brings us dazzling offers

With fingers gemmed and pearled,

And evening fills our coffers

As we explain the world,

Green fields and seas that curtseyTo us and mock Despair;For blossoms in the dirt seeTheir spirit in the air.

Green fields and seas that curtsey

To us and mock Despair;

For blossoms in the dirt see

Their spirit in the air.

And Ecstasy our servantDemands no other wageBut that we be observantTo joy in pilgrimage.

And Ecstasy our servant

Demands no other wage

But that we be observant

To joy in pilgrimage.

We do not bid our masterDeclare His word His bond,Or make His payments faster—As though He would abscond!We ask Him for too littleTo strain at jot or tittle.We know our lives are brittle,We Pilgrims of Beyond.

We do not bid our master

Declare His word His bond,

Or make His payments faster—

As though He would abscond!

We ask Him for too little

To strain at jot or tittle.

We know our lives are brittle,

We Pilgrims of Beyond.

We come from everlastingTowards eternity,Ho! not in dirge and fastingBut lapped in jollity.Though sackcloth be our clothingWe bear no ash but fire.We have no sickly loathingOf youth and youth's desire.We prize no consummationOf one peculiar creed.We travel for a nation,The one that feels our need.Our tongue conceals no message,But leaves you free to find,And vaunts itself the presageOf those that come behind.

We come from everlastingTowards eternity,Ho! not in dirge and fastingBut lapped in jollity.

We come from everlasting

Towards eternity,

Ho! not in dirge and fasting

But lapped in jollity.

Though sackcloth be our clothingWe bear no ash but fire.We have no sickly loathingOf youth and youth's desire.

Though sackcloth be our clothing

We bear no ash but fire.

We have no sickly loathing

Of youth and youth's desire.

We prize no consummationOf one peculiar creed.We travel for a nation,The one that feels our need.

We prize no consummation

Of one peculiar creed.

We travel for a nation,

The one that feels our need.

Our tongue conceals no message,But leaves you free to find,And vaunts itself the presageOf those that come behind.

Our tongue conceals no message,

But leaves you free to find,

And vaunts itself the presage

Of those that come behind.

Here is no patch of shade. AFierce wilderness and blondeLinks Delhi to Hodeidah,Tashkent to Trebizond.The cargo is our brother's,We march and moil for others,Until the desert smothersThe Pilgrims of Beyond.

Here is no patch of shade. A

Fierce wilderness and blonde

Links Delhi to Hodeidah,

Tashkent to Trebizond.

The cargo is our brother's,

We march and moil for others,

Until the desert smothers

The Pilgrims of Beyond.

Hark how our camels grumbleAt morn! Would you permitThe stone on which you stumbleTo make you carry it?And if at last your burdenBe cheapened in a shop,Seraglio or Lur den,Should lack of humour stopThe game at its beginning?We lug the stuff of dreams.Earth does her best by spinning,She cannot help the seams;But you can help to mongerThe broidery. She mayHave made you richer, stronger,To give her best away.I own no musk or camphor,I have no truck with care,Nor change the thing I am forThe things men only wear.

Hark how our camels grumbleAt morn! Would you permitThe stone on which you stumbleTo make you carry it?

Hark how our camels grumble

At morn! Would you permit

The stone on which you stumble

To make you carry it?

And if at last your burdenBe cheapened in a shop,Seraglio or Lur den,Should lack of humour stop

And if at last your burden

Be cheapened in a shop,

Seraglio or Lur den,

Should lack of humour stop

The game at its beginning?We lug the stuff of dreams.Earth does her best by spinning,She cannot help the seams;

The game at its beginning?

We lug the stuff of dreams.

Earth does her best by spinning,

She cannot help the seams;

But you can help to mongerThe broidery. She mayHave made you richer, stronger,To give her best away.

But you can help to monger

The broidery. She may

Have made you richer, stronger,

To give her best away.

I own no musk or camphor,I have no truck with care,Nor change the thing I am forThe things men only wear.

I own no musk or camphor,

I have no truck with care,

Nor change the thing I am for

The things men only wear.

First cousin of a sieve isThe uniform we donned.We slop along onghivehs,In rags caparisonned.No Shah has ever paid us.All brigands mock and raid us,And misery has made usThe Pilgrims of Beyond.

First cousin of a sieve is

The uniform we donned.

We slop along onghivehs,

In rags caparisonned.

No Shah has ever paid us.

All brigands mock and raid us,

And misery has made us

The Pilgrims of Beyond.

What then! Would you be willingTo quit the caravan,And fall again to drilling,Pent in the walledmeidan,When history flings openBlank scrolls for you to writeSuch victories as no penHas ever brought to light?You shall not burn as Jengiz,Nor rage like Timur Lang.Your foemen areferengisOf whom no epic sang.The housed that blame the tented,Or comfort those that think,The flocks that die contentedWith settling down to blinkThe sun we keep our eyes on,That bow their heads too farTo face their own horizon,On these be war on war.Cursed by the bonds you sever,The bondsmen you release,Go, seek the Land of FeverAnd find the Land of Ease.

What then! Would you be willingTo quit the caravan,And fall again to drilling,Pent in the walledmeidan,

What then! Would you be willing

To quit the caravan,

And fall again to drilling,

Pent in the walledmeidan,

When history flings openBlank scrolls for you to writeSuch victories as no penHas ever brought to light?

When history flings open

Blank scrolls for you to write

Such victories as no pen

Has ever brought to light?

You shall not burn as Jengiz,Nor rage like Timur Lang.Your foemen areferengisOf whom no epic sang.

You shall not burn as Jengiz,

Nor rage like Timur Lang.

Your foemen areferengis

Of whom no epic sang.

The housed that blame the tented,Or comfort those that think,The flocks that die contentedWith settling down to blink

The housed that blame the tented,

Or comfort those that think,

The flocks that die contented

With settling down to blink

The sun we keep our eyes on,That bow their heads too farTo face their own horizon,On these be war on war.

The sun we keep our eyes on,

That bow their heads too far

To face their own horizon,

On these be war on war.

Cursed by the bonds you sever,The bondsmen you release,Go, seek the Land of FeverAnd find the Land of Ease.

Cursed by the bonds you sever,

The bondsmen you release,

Go, seek the Land of Fever

And find the Land of Ease.

Lift up your hearts, ye singers!We lift them up in song.Behold, the sunset lingers.No less shall night be long.We meet her unaffrighted,Though never bourne be sighted.Wemeantto be benightedStill moving fleet and strong.We smooth the stony placesFor those that else despond.We pass, and leave no tracesSave this, a broken frond,And this, that hands once cravenTake hardship for the havenUpon whose rocks is graven:"The Pilgrims of Beyond."

Lift up your hearts, ye singers!

We lift them up in song.

Behold, the sunset lingers.

No less shall night be long.

We meet her unaffrighted,

Though never bourne be sighted.

Wemeantto be benighted

Still moving fleet and strong.

We smooth the stony placesFor those that else despond.We pass, and leave no tracesSave this, a broken frond,And this, that hands once cravenTake hardship for the havenUpon whose rocks is graven:"The Pilgrims of Beyond."

We smooth the stony places

For those that else despond.

We pass, and leave no traces

Save this, a broken frond,

And this, that hands once craven

Take hardship for the haven

Upon whose rocks is graven:

"The Pilgrims of Beyond."

XITHE STORY OF THE SUTLERAnd so the song was finished. Then they calledTo Kizzil Bash, the Sutler of Dilman,"Take up the tale, for you have wandered farBehind strange masters...." Once, he said, I servedOne of the Roumi lordlings, silver-faced,Who to forget some sorrow or lost love—Such is their way—came with an embassageTo cringe before the Caliph in StamboulFor something sordid, trade.... He mouthed our verseTo please his guests, and I corrected him.The man was cypress-sad and lone, but heCould not be silent as the great should be,Because he neither knew his place nor me.The boatman marvelled at his lack of dignity.They knew the currents. He was bent on steering,And spoke of God in terms wellnigh endearing.I see him still, sharp beard, black velvet mantle, ear-ring.He dug with slaves for Greekling manuscript,Danced like a slave-girl when he found, and shippedWestward cracked heads and friezes we had chipped.I saw him kiss a statue, murmuring eager-lipped:"Fear was born when the woods were young.Chance had gathered an heap of sods,Where the slip of a tree-man's tongueThroned the dam of the elder gods.Twilight, a rustled leaf,Started the first beliefIn some unearthly ChiefLatent behindCover of aspen shade.Skirting the haunted gladeSome one found speech, and prayed.Was it the windSniffing his cavern or the demon's laughter?Here from the night he conjured up Hereafter,Quarried the river-mists to house the unseen.Only the woodpecker had found life hollow,And gods went whither none was fain to follow,Because the earth was greenAnd Afterwards was black."Man, the child of a tale of rape,Drew the seas with his hunting ships,Cut their prows to a giant's shape,Fitted names to their snarling lips:Gods in his image born,Singing, fierce-eyed, unshorn,Lords of a drinking-hornFive fathoms deep;Holding the one rewardCarved by a dripping sword,Feasts, and above them storedCeiling-high sleep.Save to the conqueror Life was put-off Dying,And Death brought nothing but the irk of lying—How long—with over-restful hosts abed.The rough immortals, whom he met unshrinking,Spared him from nothing but the pain of thinking.And so the earth was redWhile Afterwards was grey."Jungles thinned, and the clearings mergedWhere the wandering clans drew breath.Druids rose and the people surged.Then the blessing of NazarethFell on them mad and mild,Boasting itself a child.Smite it! And yet it smiled.There, as it kneeled,Lowliness rose to might,Deeming our days a night,Bodily joy a plightSoon to be healed;Gave to one god all credit for creation,But, lest the Path should seem the Destination,Strove to attune man's heartstrings to a rack,Until the soul was fortified to change hells,While saints and poets chanted songs of angels,Confessing earth was blackBut Afterwards was gold."Faith was raised to the power of millions,Went as wine to a single head,Took its chiefs for the sun's postillions,Claimed to speak in its founder's stead;Till in the western skiesReason's epiphaniesBeckoned the other-wiseMen to rebirth.Doubt, that makes spirits lithe,Woke and began to writhe,Burst through the osier withe,Freed the old earth.Nature cried out again for recognition,Claiming that flesh is more than mere transition,That mouths were made for sweeter things than prayer.Yea, she, that first revealed the superhuman,Out of the depths in us shall bring the new manWho knows that earth is fair,And Afterwards—who knows!"We knew his childish searching meant no harm,But his own people somehow took alarm;For when his heart was healed, and he returnedWith songs, 'tis said that he and they were burned.Only this one survived. I put it byLest one who lived so much should wholly die.He tried to spend far more than every day,And never asked what he would have to pay.To him a pint of music was a potionThat set him dabbling in some small emotion.Wherever he could drown he marked an oceanHe got no pleasure but the pains he tookTo bring himself to death by one small bookFilled with what he had heard, the babble of a brook.

And so the song was finished. Then they calledTo Kizzil Bash, the Sutler of Dilman,"Take up the tale, for you have wandered farBehind strange masters...." Once, he said, I servedOne of the Roumi lordlings, silver-faced,Who to forget some sorrow or lost love—Such is their way—came with an embassageTo cringe before the Caliph in StamboulFor something sordid, trade.... He mouthed our verseTo please his guests, and I corrected him.The man was cypress-sad and lone, but heCould not be silent as the great should be,Because he neither knew his place nor me.The boatman marvelled at his lack of dignity.They knew the currents. He was bent on steering,And spoke of God in terms wellnigh endearing.I see him still, sharp beard, black velvet mantle, ear-ring.He dug with slaves for Greekling manuscript,Danced like a slave-girl when he found, and shippedWestward cracked heads and friezes we had chipped.I saw him kiss a statue, murmuring eager-lipped:"Fear was born when the woods were young.Chance had gathered an heap of sods,Where the slip of a tree-man's tongueThroned the dam of the elder gods.Twilight, a rustled leaf,Started the first beliefIn some unearthly ChiefLatent behindCover of aspen shade.Skirting the haunted gladeSome one found speech, and prayed.Was it the windSniffing his cavern or the demon's laughter?Here from the night he conjured up Hereafter,Quarried the river-mists to house the unseen.Only the woodpecker had found life hollow,And gods went whither none was fain to follow,Because the earth was greenAnd Afterwards was black."Man, the child of a tale of rape,Drew the seas with his hunting ships,Cut their prows to a giant's shape,Fitted names to their snarling lips:Gods in his image born,Singing, fierce-eyed, unshorn,Lords of a drinking-hornFive fathoms deep;Holding the one rewardCarved by a dripping sword,Feasts, and above them storedCeiling-high sleep.Save to the conqueror Life was put-off Dying,And Death brought nothing but the irk of lying—How long—with over-restful hosts abed.The rough immortals, whom he met unshrinking,Spared him from nothing but the pain of thinking.And so the earth was redWhile Afterwards was grey."Jungles thinned, and the clearings mergedWhere the wandering clans drew breath.Druids rose and the people surged.Then the blessing of NazarethFell on them mad and mild,Boasting itself a child.Smite it! And yet it smiled.There, as it kneeled,Lowliness rose to might,Deeming our days a night,Bodily joy a plightSoon to be healed;Gave to one god all credit for creation,But, lest the Path should seem the Destination,Strove to attune man's heartstrings to a rack,Until the soul was fortified to change hells,While saints and poets chanted songs of angels,Confessing earth was blackBut Afterwards was gold."Faith was raised to the power of millions,Went as wine to a single head,Took its chiefs for the sun's postillions,Claimed to speak in its founder's stead;Till in the western skiesReason's epiphaniesBeckoned the other-wiseMen to rebirth.Doubt, that makes spirits lithe,Woke and began to writhe,Burst through the osier withe,Freed the old earth.Nature cried out again for recognition,Claiming that flesh is more than mere transition,That mouths were made for sweeter things than prayer.Yea, she, that first revealed the superhuman,Out of the depths in us shall bring the new manWho knows that earth is fair,And Afterwards—who knows!"We knew his childish searching meant no harm,But his own people somehow took alarm;For when his heart was healed, and he returnedWith songs, 'tis said that he and they were burned.Only this one survived. I put it byLest one who lived so much should wholly die.He tried to spend far more than every day,And never asked what he would have to pay.To him a pint of music was a potionThat set him dabbling in some small emotion.Wherever he could drown he marked an oceanHe got no pleasure but the pains he tookTo bring himself to death by one small bookFilled with what he had heard, the babble of a brook.

And so the song was finished. Then they called

To Kizzil Bash, the Sutler of Dilman,

"Take up the tale, for you have wandered far

Behind strange masters...." Once, he said, I served

One of the Roumi lordlings, silver-faced,

Who to forget some sorrow or lost love—

Such is their way—came with an embassage

To cringe before the Caliph in Stamboul

For something sordid, trade.... He mouthed our verse

To please his guests, and I corrected him.

The man was cypress-sad and lone, but he

Could not be silent as the great should be,

Because he neither knew his place nor me.

The boatman marvelled at his lack of dignity.

They knew the currents. He was bent on steering,

And spoke of God in terms wellnigh endearing.

I see him still, sharp beard, black velvet mantle, ear-ring.

He dug with slaves for Greekling manuscript,

Danced like a slave-girl when he found, and shipped

Westward cracked heads and friezes we had chipped.

I saw him kiss a statue, murmuring eager-lipped:

"Fear was born when the woods were young.Chance had gathered an heap of sods,Where the slip of a tree-man's tongueThroned the dam of the elder gods.Twilight, a rustled leaf,Started the first beliefIn some unearthly ChiefLatent behindCover of aspen shade.Skirting the haunted gladeSome one found speech, and prayed.Was it the windSniffing his cavern or the demon's laughter?Here from the night he conjured up Hereafter,Quarried the river-mists to house the unseen.Only the woodpecker had found life hollow,And gods went whither none was fain to follow,Because the earth was greenAnd Afterwards was black.

"Fear was born when the woods were young.

Chance had gathered an heap of sods,

Where the slip of a tree-man's tongue

Throned the dam of the elder gods.

Twilight, a rustled leaf,

Started the first belief

In some unearthly Chief

Latent behind

Cover of aspen shade.

Skirting the haunted glade

Some one found speech, and prayed.

Was it the wind

Sniffing his cavern or the demon's laughter?

Here from the night he conjured up Hereafter,

Quarried the river-mists to house the unseen.

Only the woodpecker had found life hollow,

And gods went whither none was fain to follow,

Because the earth was green

And Afterwards was black.

"Man, the child of a tale of rape,Drew the seas with his hunting ships,Cut their prows to a giant's shape,Fitted names to their snarling lips:Gods in his image born,Singing, fierce-eyed, unshorn,Lords of a drinking-hornFive fathoms deep;Holding the one rewardCarved by a dripping sword,Feasts, and above them storedCeiling-high sleep.Save to the conqueror Life was put-off Dying,And Death brought nothing but the irk of lying—How long—with over-restful hosts abed.The rough immortals, whom he met unshrinking,Spared him from nothing but the pain of thinking.And so the earth was redWhile Afterwards was grey.

"Man, the child of a tale of rape,

Drew the seas with his hunting ships,

Cut their prows to a giant's shape,

Fitted names to their snarling lips:

Gods in his image born,

Singing, fierce-eyed, unshorn,

Lords of a drinking-horn

Five fathoms deep;

Holding the one reward

Carved by a dripping sword,

Feasts, and above them stored

Ceiling-high sleep.

Save to the conqueror Life was put-off Dying,

And Death brought nothing but the irk of lying—

How long—with over-restful hosts abed.

The rough immortals, whom he met unshrinking,

Spared him from nothing but the pain of thinking.

And so the earth was red

While Afterwards was grey.

"Jungles thinned, and the clearings mergedWhere the wandering clans drew breath.Druids rose and the people surged.Then the blessing of NazarethFell on them mad and mild,Boasting itself a child.Smite it! And yet it smiled.There, as it kneeled,Lowliness rose to might,Deeming our days a night,Bodily joy a plightSoon to be healed;Gave to one god all credit for creation,But, lest the Path should seem the Destination,Strove to attune man's heartstrings to a rack,Until the soul was fortified to change hells,While saints and poets chanted songs of angels,Confessing earth was blackBut Afterwards was gold.

"Jungles thinned, and the clearings merged

Where the wandering clans drew breath.

Druids rose and the people surged.

Then the blessing of Nazareth

Fell on them mad and mild,

Boasting itself a child.

Smite it! And yet it smiled.

There, as it kneeled,

Lowliness rose to might,

Deeming our days a night,

Bodily joy a plight

Soon to be healed;

Gave to one god all credit for creation,

But, lest the Path should seem the Destination,

Strove to attune man's heartstrings to a rack,

Until the soul was fortified to change hells,

While saints and poets chanted songs of angels,

Confessing earth was black

But Afterwards was gold.

"Faith was raised to the power of millions,Went as wine to a single head,Took its chiefs for the sun's postillions,Claimed to speak in its founder's stead;Till in the western skiesReason's epiphaniesBeckoned the other-wiseMen to rebirth.Doubt, that makes spirits lithe,Woke and began to writhe,Burst through the osier withe,Freed the old earth.Nature cried out again for recognition,Claiming that flesh is more than mere transition,That mouths were made for sweeter things than prayer.Yea, she, that first revealed the superhuman,Out of the depths in us shall bring the new manWho knows that earth is fair,And Afterwards—who knows!"

"Faith was raised to the power of millions,

Went as wine to a single head,

Took its chiefs for the sun's postillions,

Claimed to speak in its founder's stead;

Till in the western skies

Reason's epiphanies

Beckoned the other-wise

Men to rebirth.

Doubt, that makes spirits lithe,

Woke and began to writhe,

Burst through the osier withe,

Freed the old earth.

Nature cried out again for recognition,

Claiming that flesh is more than mere transition,

That mouths were made for sweeter things than prayer.

Yea, she, that first revealed the superhuman,

Out of the depths in us shall bring the new man

Who knows that earth is fair,

And Afterwards—who knows!"

We knew his childish searching meant no harm,But his own people somehow took alarm;For when his heart was healed, and he returnedWith songs, 'tis said that he and they were burned.Only this one survived. I put it byLest one who lived so much should wholly die.He tried to spend far more than every day,And never asked what he would have to pay.To him a pint of music was a potionThat set him dabbling in some small emotion.Wherever he could drown he marked an oceanHe got no pleasure but the pains he tookTo bring himself to death by one small bookFilled with what he had heard, the babble of a brook.

We knew his childish searching meant no harm,

But his own people somehow took alarm;

For when his heart was healed, and he returned

With songs, 'tis said that he and they were burned.

Only this one survived. I put it by

Lest one who lived so much should wholly die.

He tried to spend far more than every day,

And never asked what he would have to pay.

To him a pint of music was a potion

That set him dabbling in some small emotion.

Wherever he could drown he marked an ocean

He got no pleasure but the pains he took

To bring himself to death by one small book

Filled with what he had heard, the babble of a brook.

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