human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Gleeson White?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Gleeson White:
  _"The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after meâin vain!"_]
RubÃ¡iyÃ¡t
Omar KhayyÃ¡m
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n and AbsÃ¡l
Old Fitz, who from your suburb grange
Where once I tarried for a while,
Glance at the wheeling Orb of change
And greet it with a kindly smile;
Whom yet I see, as there you sit
Beneath your sheltering garden tree,
And watch your doves about you flit
And plant on shoulder, hand and knee,
Or on your head their rosy feet,
As if they knew your diet spares
Whatever moved in that full sheet
Let down to Peter at his prayers;
But none can say
That Lenten fare makes Lenten thought,
Who reads your golden Eastern lay,
Than which I know no version done
In English more divinely well;
A planet equal to the sun;
Which cast it, that large infidel
Your Omar: and your Omar drew
Full-handed plaudits from our best
In modern letters....
Spedding and J. M. Kemble. From there he went in 1826 to Trinity
Besides the works already mentioned, FitzGerald was the author of
The MS. runs thus:â
For a while, when young, we frequented a teacher;
For a while we were contented with our proficiency;
Behold the foundation of the discourse!âwhat happened to us?
We came in like Water, and we depart like Wind.
In FitzGerald's version the verses appear thus:â
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'dâ
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
Similar examples may be found elsewhere, thus:â
From the Beginning was written what shall be
Unhaltingly the Pen writes, and is heedless of good and bad;
On the First Day He appointed everything that must be,
Our grief and our efforts are vain,
develops into:â
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
into the oft-quoted verses:â
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where the name of Slave and SultÃ¡n scarce is known,
And pity SultÃ¡n MÃ¡hmÃºd on his Throne.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verseâand Thou
Beside me singing in the Wildernessâ
And Wilderness is Paradise enow!
And in the lines of Omar:â
In a thousand places on the road I walk, thou placest snares.
Thou sayest: "I will catch thee if thou steppeth into them,"
In no smallest thing is the world independent of thee,
_Thou_ orderest all thingsâand callest _me_ rebellious!
majestically shaping into FitzGerald's rendering:â
Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness giveâand take!
The theory of reincarnation and that alone, can furnish a full
explanation of FitzGerald's splendid success as a translator.
theological dogmatists nor devil-worshippers, but men.
RubÃ¡iyÃ¡t of Omar KhayyÃ¡m.
"'One of the greatest of the wise men of KhorassÃ¡n was the
ImÃ¡n Mowaffak of NaishÃ¡pÃºr, a man highly honoured and
reverenced,âmay God rejoice his soul; his illustrious years
exceeded eighty-five, and it was the universal belief that
every boy who read the Koran, or studied the traditions in his
presence, would assuredly attain to honour and happiness. For
this cause did my father send me from TÃºs to NaishÃ¡pÃºr with
Abd-u-samad, the doctor of law, that I might employ myself in
study and learning under the guidance of that illustrious
teacher. Towards me he ever turned an eye of favour and
kindness, and as his pupil I felt for him extreme affection
and devotion, so that I passed four years in his service. When
I first came there, I found two other pupils of mine own age
newly arrived, Hakim Omar KhayyÃ¡m and the ill-fated Ben
SabbÃ¡h. Both were endowed with sharpness of wit and the
highest natural powers; and we three formed a close friendship
together. When the ImÃ¡m rose from his lectures, they used to
join me, and we repeated to each other the lessons we had
heard. Now Omar was a native of NaishÃ¡pÃºr, while Hasan Ben
SabbÃ¡h's father was one Ali, a man of austere life and
practice, but heretical in his creed and doctrine. One day
Hasan said to me and to KhayyÃ¡m, "It is a universal belief
that the pupils of the ImÃ¡m Mowaffak will attain to fortune.
Now, if we _all_ do not attain thereto, without doubt one of
us will; what then shall be our mutual pledge and bond?" We
answered, "Be it what you please." "Well," he said, "let us
make a vow, that to whomsoever this fortune falls, he shall
share it equally with the rest, and reserve no pre-eminence
for himself." "Be it so," we both replied; and on those terms
we mutually pledged our words. Years rolled on, and I went
from KhorassÃ¡n to Transoxiana, and wandered to Ghazni and
Cabul; and when I returned, I was invested with office, and
rose to be administrator of affairs during the Sultanate of
Sultan Alp ArslÃ¡n.'
"He goes on to state, that years passed by, and both his old
school-friends found him out, and came and claimed a share in
his good fortune according to the school-day vow. The Vizier
was generous and kept his word. Hasan demanded a place in the
government, which the Sultan granted at the Vizier's request;
but, discontented with a gradual rise, he plunged into the
maze of intrigue of an Oriental Court, and, failing in a base
attempt to supplant his benefactor, he was disgraced and fell.
After many mishaps and wanderings, Hasan became the head of
the Persian sect of the _IsmaÃ­lians_,âa party of fanatics who
had long murmured in obscurity, but rose to an evil eminence
he seized the castle of AlamÃºt, in the province of RÃºdbar,
which lies in the mountainous tract, south of the Caspian sea;
and it was from this mountain home he obtained that evil
celebrity among the Crusaders, as the OLD MAN OF THE
MOUNTAINS, and spread terror through the Mohammedan world; and
it is yet disputed whether the word _Assassin_, which they
have left in the language of modern Europe as their dark
memorial, is derived from the _hashish_, or opiate of
hemp-leaves (the Indian _bhang_), with which they maddened
themselves to the sullen pitch of oriental desperation, or
from the name of the founder of the dynasty, whom we have seen
in his quiet collegiate days, at NaishÃ¡pÃºr. One of the
countless victims of the Assassin's dagger was NizÃ¡m al Mulk
himself, the old school-boy friend.
"Omar KhayyÃ¡m also came to the Vizier to claim his share; but
not to ask for title or office. 'The greatest boon you can
confer on me,' he said, 'is to let me live in a corner under
the shadow of your fortune, to spread wide the advantages of
Science, and pray for your long life and prosperity.' The
Vizier tells us, that when he found Omar was really sincere
in his refusal, he pressed him no further, but granted him a
yearly pension of 1,200 _mithkÃ¡ls_ of gold from the treasury
of NaishÃ¡pÃºr.
"At NaishÃ¡pÃºr thus lived and died Omar KhayyÃ¡m, 'busied,' adds
especially in Astronomy, wherein he attained to a very high
pre-eminence. Under the Sultanate of Malik Shah, he came to
Merv, and obtained great praise for his proficiency in
science, and the Sultan showered favours upon him.'
"When Malik Shah determined to reform the calendar, Omar was
one of the eight learned men employed to do it; the result was
the _JalÃ¡li_ era (so-called from _Jalal-ul-Din_, one of the
king's names)â'a computation of time,' says Gibbon, 'which
surpasses the Julian, and approaches the accuracy of the
Gregorian style.' He is also the author of some astronomical
tables, entitled 'ZÃ­ji-MalikshÃ¡hÃ­,' and the French have lately
"These severe Studies, and his verses, which, though happily
fewer than any Persian Poet's, and, though perhaps fugitively
composed, the Result of no fugitive Emotion or Thought, are
probably the Work and Event of his Life, leaving little else
to record. Perhaps he liked a little Farming too, so often as
he speaks of the 'Edge of the Tilth' on which he loved to rest
with his DiwÃ¡n of Verse, his Loafâand his Wine.
"His Takhallus or poetical name (KhayyÃ¡m) signifies a
Tent-maker, and he is said to have at one time exercised that
trade, perhaps before NizÃ¡m al Mulk's generosity raised him to
independence. Many Persian poets similarly derive their names
from their occupations: thus we have AttÃ¡r 'a druggist,' AssÃ¡r
'an oil presser,' etc. Omar himself alludes to his name in the
following whimsical lines:â
"'KhayyÃ¡m, who stitched the tents of science,
Has fallen in grief's furnace and been suddenly burned;
The shears of Fate have cut the tent ropes of his life,
And the broker of Hope has sold him for nothing!'
"We have only one more anecdote to give of his Life, and that
relates to the close; related in the anonymous preface which
is sometimes prefixed to his poems; it has been printed in the
Persian in the appendix to Hyde's _Veterum Persarum Religio_,
p. 449; and D'Herbelot alludes to it in his BibliothÃ©que,
"'It is written in the chronicles of the ancients that this
King of the Wise, Omar KhayyÃ¡m, died at NaishÃ¡pÃºr in the year
unrivalled,âthe very paragon of his age. KhwÃ¡jah NizÃ¡mi of
Samarcand, who was one of his pupils, relates the following
story: "I often used to hold conversation with my teacher,
Omar KhayyÃ¡m, in a garden; and one day he said to me, 'My tomb
shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over
it.' I wondered at the words he spake, but I knew that his
were no idle words. Years after, when I chanced to revisit
NaishÃ¡pÃºr I went to his final resting place, and lo! it was
just outside a garden, and trees laden with fruit stretched
their boughs over the garden wall, and dropped their flowers
upon his tomb, so as the stone was hidden under them."'"
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The SultÃ¡n's Turret in a Noose of Light.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky,
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shoutedâ"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
IrÃ¡m indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And JamshÃ½d's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows:
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
And David's Lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping PÃ©hlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
_Red_ Wine!"âthe Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flyâand Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
And lookâa thousand blossoms with the Day
Wokeâand a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take JamshÃ½d and KaikobÃ¡d away.
But come with old KhayyÃ¡m and leave the Lot
Of KaikobÃ¡d and KaikhosrÃº forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or HÃ¡tim Tai cry Supperâheed them not.
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and SultÃ¡n scarce is known,
And pity SultÃ¡n MÃ¡hmÃºd on his Throne.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verseâand Thou
Beside me singing in the Wildernessâ
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty"âthink some:
Othersâ"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a _distant_ Drum!
Look to the Rose that blows about usâ"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashesâor it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or twoâis gone.
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How SultÃ¡n after SultÃ¡n with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two and went his way.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where JamshÃ½d gloried and drank deep:
And BahrÃ¡m, that great Hunterâthe Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried CÃ¦sar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we leanâ
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
Ah, my BelovÃ©d, fill the cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fearsâ
_To-morrow?_âWhy, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couchâfor whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, andâsans End!
Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after a To-morrow stare,
A MuezzÃ­n from the Tower of Darkness cries,
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
Oh, come with old KhayyÃ¡m, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'dâ
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
Into this Universe, and _why_ not knowing,
Nor _whence_, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not _whither_, willy-nilly blowing.
What, without asking, hither hurried _whence_?
And, without asking, _whither_ hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There seemedâand then no more of Thee and Me.
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
Andâ"A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.
Then to the earthen Bowl did I adjourn
My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'dâ"While you live
Drink!âfor once dead you never shall return."
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd
How many kisses might it takeâand give!
For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'dâ"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
Ah, fill the Cup:âwhat boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One Moment, of the Well of Life to tasteâ
The Stars are setting and the Caravan
Starts for the Dawn of NothingâOh, make haste!
How long, how long, in definite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
You know, my Friends, how long since in my House
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
For "Is" and "Is-not" though _with_ Rule and Line,
And "Up-and-down" _without_, I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything butâWine.
And lately by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
He bid me taste of it; and 'twasâthe Grape!
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
The mighty MÃ¡hmÃºd, the victorious Lord
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end inâYesâ
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt beâNothingâThou shalt not be less.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old KhayyÃ¡m the Ruby Vintage drink;
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Theeâtake that, and do not shrink.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days,
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
_He_ knows about it allâHe knowsâHE knows!
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to _It_ for helpâfor It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
With Earth's first Clay They did the last Man's knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
I tell Thee thisâWhen, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n ParwÃ­n and Mushtara they flung,
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.
The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
It clings my Beingâlet the SÃºfi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness giveâand take!
Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of RamazÃ¡n, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.
And, strange to tell, among that Earthern Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient criedâ
"Who _is_ the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
Then said anotherâ"Surely not in vain
My substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."
Another saidâ"Why ne'er a peevish Boy,
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that _made_ the Vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!"
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
Said oneâ"Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
They talk of some strict Testing of usâPish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by and bye."
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Winding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong!
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I sworeâbut was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honourâwell,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
Ah, Love! could you and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bitsâand then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after meâin vain!
And when Thyself with shining Foot shalt pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made oneâturn down an empty Glass!
Oh Thou whose Memory quickens Lovers' Souls,
Whose Fount of Joy renews the Lover's Tongue,
Thy Shadow falls across the World, and They
Bow down to it; and of the Rich in Beauty
Thou art the Riches that make Lovers mad.
Not till thy Secret Beauty through the Cheek
Of Laila smite does she inflame MajnÃºn,
And not till Thou have sugar'd ShÃ­rÃ­n's Lip
The Hearts of those Two Lovers fill with Blood.
For Lov'd and Lover are not but by Thee,
Nor Beauty;âMortal Beauty but the Veil
Thy Heavenly hides behind, and from itself
Feeds, and our Hearts yearn after as a Bride
That glances past us Veil'dâbut ever so
As none the Beauty from the Veil may know.
How long wilt thou continue thus the World
To cozen with the Fantom of a Veil
From which Thou only peepest?âTime it is
To unfold thy perfect Beauty. I would be
Thy Lover, and Thine onlyâI, mine Eyes
Seal'd in the Light of Thee to all but Thee,
Self-Lost, and Conscience-quit of Good and Evil.
Thou movest under all the Forms of Truth,
Look whence I will, still nothing I discern
But Thee in all the Universe, in which
Thyself Thou dost invest, and through the Eyes
Of Man, the subtle Censor scrutinize.
To thy HarÃ­m Dividuality
No Entrance findsâno Word of This and That;
Do Thou my separate and DerivÃ©d Self
Make one with Thy Essential! Leave me room
On that DivÃ¡n which leaves no Room for Two;
Lest, like the Simple Kurd of whom they tell,
I grow perplext, Oh God! 'twixt "I" and "Thou;"
If Iâthis Dignity and Wisdom whence?
If Thouâthen what this abject Impotence?
A Kurd perplext by Fortune's Frolics
Sees a City full of Noise and
Clamour, agitated People,
Running, some intent on Travel,
Others home again returning,
Life-disquiet everywhere!
Kurd, when he beholds the Turmoil,
Creeps aside, and, Travel-weary,
Fain would go to Sleep; "But," saith he,
"How shall I in all this Hubbub
Know myself again on waking?"
Ties a Pumpkin round his Foot,
And turns to Sleep. A Knave that heard him
Crept behind, and slily watching
Slips the Pumpkin off the Sleeper's
Ancle, ties it round his own,
And so down to sleep beside him.
By and by the Kurd awaking
Looks directly for his Signalâ
Sees it on another's Ancleâ
Cries aloud, "Oh Good-for-Nothing
Rascal to perplex me so!
That by you I am bewilder'd,
If Iâthe Pumpkin why on You?
If Youâthen Where am I, and Who?"
Oh God! this poor bewilder'd Kurd am I,
Than any Kurd more helpless!âOh, do thou
Strike down a Ray of Light into my Darkness!
Turn by thy Grace these Dregs into pure Wine,
To recreate the Spirits of the Good!
Or if not that, yet, as the little Cup
Whose Name I go by, not unworthy found
To pass thy salutary Vintage round!
And yet how long, JÃ¡mi, in this Old House
Stringing thy Pearls upon a Harp of Song?
Year after Year striking up some new Song,
The Breath of some Old Story? Life is gone,
Is spentâand still a Story to be told!
And I, whose Back is crookÃ©d as the Harp
I still keep tuning through the Night till Day!
That Harp untun'd by Timeâthe Harper's hand
Shaking with Ageâhow shall the Harper's hand
Repair its cunning, and the sweet old Harp
Be modulated as of old? Methinks
'Tis time to break and cast it in the Fire;
Yea, sweet the Harp that can be sweet no more,
To cast it in the Fireâthe vain old Harp
That can no more sound Sweetness to the Ear,
But burn'd may breathe sweet Attar to the Soul,
And comfort so the Faith and Intellect,
Now that the Body looks to Dissolution.
My Teeth fall outâmy two Eyes see no more
Till by Feringhi Glasses turn'd to Four;
Pain sits with me sitting behind my knees,
From which I hardly rise unhelpt of hand;
I bow down to my Root, and like a Child
Yearn, as is likely, to my Mother Earth,
With whom I soon shall cease to moan and weep,
And on my Mother's Bosom fall asleep.
The House in Ruin, and its Music heard
No more within, nor at the Door of Speech,
To fold me Head and Foot, remembering
What that Beloved to the Master whisper'd:â
"No longer think of Rhyme, but think of Me!"â
Of Whom?âof Him whose Palace The Soul is,
And Treasure-Houseâwho notices and knows
Its Incomes and Out-going, and _then_ comes
To fill it when the Stranger is departed.
Whose Shadowâbeing Kingsâwhose Attributes
The Type of Theirsâtheir Wrath and Favour Hisâ
The King Himself come on me unaware,
And suddenly arrests me for his own.
Wherefore once more I takeâbest quitted elseâ
The Field of Verse, to chaunt that double Praise,
And in that Memory refresh my Soul
Until I grasp the Skirt of Living Presence.
One who travel'd in the Desert
Saw MajnÃºn where he was sitting
All alone like a Magician
"Oh distracted Lover! writing
What the Sword-wind of the Desert
Undecyphers soon as written,
So that none who travels after
Shall be able to interpret!"â
MajnÃºn answer'd, "I am writing
'Laili'âwere it only 'Laili,'
And with but her Name to dote on,
Amorously I caress it
As it were Herself and sip
Her presence till I drink her Lip."
When Night had thus far brought me with my Book,
In middle Thought Sleep robb'd me of myself;
And in a Dream Myself I seemed to see,
Walking along a straight and even Road,
And clean as is the Soul of the SufÃ­;
A Road whose spotless Surface neither Breeze
Lifted in Dust, nor mix'd the Rain to Mire.
There I, methought, was pacing tranquilly,
When, on a sudden, the tumultuous Shout
Of Soldiery behind broke on mine Ear,
And took away my Wit and Strength for Fear.
I look'd about for Refuge, and Behold!
A Palace was before me; whither running
For Refuge from the coming Soldiery,
Suddenly from the Troop a ShÃ¡hzemÃ¡n,
By Name and Nature Hasanâon the Horse
Of Honour mountedârobed in Royal Robes,
And wearing a White Turban on his Head,
Turn'd his Rein tow'rd me, and with smiling Lips
Open'd before my Eyes the Door of Peace.
Then, riding up to me, dismounted; kiss'd
How glad of his Protection, and the Grace
He gave it with!âWho then of gracious Speech
Not one that in my Ear till Morning hung.
When, waking on my Bed, my waking Wit
I question'd what the Vision meant, it answered;
Foreshadows the fair Acceptance of thy Verse,
Which lose no moment pushing to Conclusion."
This hearing, I address'd me like a Pen
To steady Writing; for perchance, I thought,
From the same Fountain whence the Vision grew
The Interpretation also may come True.
Breathless ran a simple Rustic
"Lo, this Morning I was dreamingâ
And methought, in yon deserted
Village wander'dâall about me
Shatter'd Housesâand, Behold!
Into one, methought, I wentâand
Search'dâand found a Hoard of Gold!"
Go and sole your Feet like Horse's,
And returning to your Village
Stamp and scratch with Hoof and Nail,
And give Earth so sound a Shaking,
She must hand you something up."
Went at once the unsuspecting
Countryman; with hearty Purpose
Set to work as he was told;
And, the very first Encounter,
Struck upon his Hoard of Gold!
Until Thou hast thy Purpose by the Hilt,
Catch at it boldlyâor Thou never wilt.
A Shah there was who ruled the Realm of YÃºn,
And wore the Ring of Empire of Sikander;
Of Wisdom of so strong Foundation built
That Wise Men from all Quarters of the World
To catch the Word of Wisdom from his Lip
Went in a Girdle round himâWhich The Shah
Observing, took him to his Secresy;
Stirr'd not a Step nor set Design a-foot
Without that Sage's sanction; till so counsel'd,
From KÃ¡f to KÃ¡f reach'd his Dominion:
No Nation of the World or Nation's Chief
Who wore the Ring but under span of his
Bow'd down the Neck; then rising up in Peace
Under his Justice grew, and knew no Wrong,
And in their Strength was his Dominion Strong.
The Shah that has not Wisdom in Himself,
The Wand of his Authority falls short,
And his Dominion crumbles at the Base.
For he, discerning not the Characters
Of Tyranny and Justice, confounds both,
Of Justice a SerÃ¡b. Well was it said,
"_Better just KÃ¡fir than Believing Tyrant_."
God said to the Prophet David,â
"David, speak, and to the Challenge
Answer of the Faith within Thee.
Ill-reported if Unworthy,
Were their Worship of The Fireâ
Even These unto Themselves
Reap glory and redress the World."
One Night The Shah of YÃºnan, as his wont,
Consider'd of his Power, and told his State,
How great it was, and how about him sat
Then found he nothing wanted to his Heart,
And Glory might inherit after him,
And then he turn'd him to The Shah and said;
"Oh Thou, whose Wisdom is the Rule of Kingsâ
(Glory to God who gave it!)âanswer me;
Is any Blessing better than a Son?
Man's prime Desire; by which his Name and He
Shall live beyond Himself; by whom his Eyes
Shine living, and his Dust with Roses blows;
A Foot for Thee to stand on, he shall be
A Hand to stop thy Falling; in his Youth
Thou shall be Young, and in his Strength be Strong;
Sharp shall he be in Battle as a Sword,
A Cloud of Arrows on the Enemy's Head;
His Voice shall cheer his Friends to Plight,
And turn the Foeman's Glory into Flight."
Thus much of a Good Son, whose wholesome Growth
Approves the Root he grew from; but for one
Kneaded of EvilâWell, could one undo
His Generation, and as early pull
Him and his Vices from the String of Time.
Like Noah's, puff'd with Ignorance and Pride,
Who felt the Stab of "He is none of Thine!"
And perish'd in the Deluge. And because
All are not Good, be slow to pray for One
Whom having you may have to pray to lose.
Ran before the Sheikh a Fellow
Crying out, "Oh hear and help me!
Pray to Allah from my Clay
To raise me up a fresh young Cypress,
Who my Childless Eyes may lighten
Said the Sheikh, "Be wise, and leave it
Who, whatever we are after,
Understands our Business best."
But the Man persisted, saying,
"Sheikh, I languish in my Longing;
Help, and set my Prayer a-going!"
Then the Sheikh held up his Handâ
Pray'dâhis Arrow flew to Heavenâ
From the Hunting-ground of Darkness
Down a musky Fawn of China
Broughtâa BoyâWho, when the Tender
Shoot of Passion in him planted
Found sufficient Soil and Sap,
Took to Drinking with his Fellows;
From a Corner of the House-top
Ill affronts a Neighbour's Wife,
Who complains before the Justice,
And the Father has to pay.
Day and Night the Youngster's Doings
Suchâthe Talk of all the City;
Held him; till the Desperate Father
Once more to the Sheikh a-running,
Catches at his Garment, cryingâ
"Sheikh, my only Hope and Helper!
One more Prayer! that God who laid
Will take that Trouble from my Head!"
But the Sheikh replied: "Remember
How that very Day I warn'd you
Better not importune Allah;
Unto whom remains no other
Prayer, unless to pray for Pardon.
When from this World we are summon'd
On to bind the pack of Travel
Son or Daughter ill shall help us;
Slaves we are and unencumber'd
Best may do the Master's mind;
And, whatever he may order,
Do it with a Will Resign'd."
When the Sharp-witted Sage
Had heard these sayings of The Shah, he said,
"Oh Shah, who would not be the Slave of Lust
Must still endure the Sorrow of no Son.
âLust that makes blind the Reason; Lust that makes
A Devil's self seem Angel to our Eyes;
A Cataract that, carrying havoc with it,
Confounds the prosperous House; a Road of Mire
Where whoso falls he rises not again;
A Wine of which whoever tastes shall see
Redemption's face no moreâone little Sip
Of that delicious and unlawful Drink
Making crave much, and hanging round the Palate
Till it become a Ring to lead thee by
(Putting the rope in a Vain Woman's hand),
Till thou thyself go down the Way of Nothing.
For what is Woman? A Foolish, Faithless Thingâ
To whom The Wise Self-subjected, himself
Deep sinks beneath the Folly he sets up.
A very KÃ¡fir in Rapacity;
Her Garment with Brocade of Susa braided,
Her very Night-gear wrought in Cloth of Gold,
Dangle her Ears with Ruby and with Pearl,
Her House with Golden Vessels all a-blaze,
Her Tables loaded with the Fruit of Kings,
One little twist of Temper,âall you've done
She cries, 'What have you ever done for me!'â
Her Brow's white TabletâYesâ'tis uninscrib'd
Who ever read it there? Lo, in your Bosom
She lies for Yearsâyou turn away a moment,
And she forgets youâworse, if as you turn
Her Eye should light on any Younger Lover."
Once upon the Throne of Judgment,
Telling one another Secrets,
Sat Sulayman and BalkÃ­s;
The Hearts of Both were turn'd to Truth,
Spokeâ"Though mine the Ring of Empire,
Never any Day that passes
Darkens any one my Door-way
But into his Hand I lookâ
And He who comes not empty-handed
Grows to Honour in mine Eyes."
After this BalkÃ­s a Secret
From her hidden Bosom utter'd,
Comely Youth before me passes
Whom I look not longing after;
Saying to myself, 'Oh were he
Comforting of my Sick Soul!â'"
"If this, as wise FerdÃºsi says, the Curse
Of Better Women, what should be the Worse?"
The Sage his Satire ended; and The Shah
With Magic-mighty Wisdom his pure Will
Leaguing, its Self-fulfilment wrought from Heaven.
And Lo! from Darkness came to Light A Child
Of Carnal Composition Unattaint,â
A Rosebud blowing on the Royal Stem,â
A Perfume from the Realm of Wisdom wafted;
Under whose Augury triumph'd the Throne.
For whose Auspicious Name they clove the Words
"SalÃ¡mat"âIncolumity from Evilâ
And "AusemÃ¡n"âthe Heav'n from which he cameâ
And hail'd him by the title of SalÃ¡mÃ¡n.
And whereas from no Mother Milk he drew,
They chose for him a Nurseâher Name AbsÃ¡lâ
Her Years not Twentyâfrom the Silver Line
Down to her Foot that trampled Crowns of Kings,
A Moon of Beauty Full; who thus elect
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n of Auspicious Augury
Should carry in the Garment of her Bounty,
Should feed him with the Flowing of her Breast.
As soon as she had opened Eyes on him
She closed those Eyes to all the World beside,
Opening and shutting which her Day's Delight,
To gaze upon his Heart-inflaming Cheek,â
Upon the Darling whom, could she, she would
Have cradled as the Baby of her Eye.
In Rose and Musk she wash'd himâto his Lips
Press'd the pure Sugar from the Honeycomb;
And when, Day over, she withdrew her Milk,
She made, and having laid him in, his Bed,
Burn'd all Night like a Taper o'er his Head.
Then still as Morning came, and as he grew,
She dress'd him like a Little Idol up;
On with his Robeâwith fresh Collyrium Dew
Touch'd his Narcissus Eyesâthe Musky Locks
Divided from his Foreheadâand embraced
With Gold and Ruby Girdle his fine Waist.â
So rear'd she him till full Fourteen his Years,
Fourteen-day full the Beauty of his Face,
That rode high in a Hundred Thousand Hearts;
Yea, when SalÃ¡mÃ¡n was but Half-lance high,
Lance-like he struck a wound in every One,
And burn'd and shook down Splendour like a Sun.
Soon as the Lord of Heav'n had sprung his Horse
Over the Horizon into the Blue Field,
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n rose drunk with the Wine of Sleep,
And set himself a-stirrup for the Field;
Kings too in the Kingdom-troubling Tribe of Beauty,
All Young in Years and Courage, Bat in hand
Gallop'd a-field, toss'd down the Golden Ball
And chased, so many Crescent Moons a Full;
And, all alike Intent upon the Game,
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n still would carry from them all
The Prize, and shouting "HÃ¡l!" drive Home the Ball.
This done, SalÃ¡mÃ¡n bent him as a Bow
To Shootingâfrom the Marksmen of the World
Call'd for an unstrung Bowâhimself the Cord
Fitted unhelpt, and nimbly with his hand
Twanging made cry, and drew it to his Ear:
Then, fixing the Three-feather'd Fowl, discharged.
No point in Heaven's Azure but his Arrow
Hit; nay, but Heaven were made of Adamant,
Would overtake the Horizon as it roll'd;
And, whether aiming at the Fawn a-foot,
Or Bird on the wing, his Arrow went away
Straightâlike the Soul that cannot go astray.
When Night came, that releases man from Toil,
He play'd the Chess of Social Intercourse;
Prepared his Banquet Hall like Paradise,
Summon'd his Houri-faced Musicians,
And, when his Brain grew warm with Wine, the Veil
Concerting with the Singer he would breathe
Like a Messias Life into the Dead;
Now made of the Melodious-moving Pipe
A Sugar-cane between his Lips that ran
Men's Ears with Sweetness: Taking up a Harp,
Between its dry String and his Finger fresh
Struck Fire; or lifting in his arms a Lute
As if a little Child for Chastisement,
Pinching its Ear such Cries of Sorrow wrung
As drew Blood to the Eyes of Older Men.
Now sang He like the Nightingale alone,
Now set together Voice and Instrument;
And thus with his Associates Night he spent.
His Soul rejoiced in Knowledge of all kinds;
The fine Edge of his Wit would split a Hair,
And in the Noose of Apprehension catch
A Meaning ere articulate in Word;
His Verse was like the Pleiads; his Discourse
(Tablet and running Reed his Worshippers,)
Drove Penmen, as that Lovers, to Despair.
His Bounty was as Ocean'sânay, the Sea's
For it threw up the Shell, but he the Pearl;
He was a Cloud that rain'd upon the World
Dirhems for Drops; the Banquet of whose Bounty
Left HÃ¡tim's Churlish in Comparisonâ
Suddenly that Sweet Minister of mine
Rebuked me angrily: "What Folly, JÃ¡mi,
Wearing that indefatigable Pen
In celebration of an Alien Shah
Whose Throne, not grounded in the Eternal World,
Yesterday was, To-day is not!" I answer'd;
"Oh Fount of Light!âunder an Alien Name
I shadow One upon whose Head the Crown
Both Was and Is To-day; to whose FirmÃ¡n
The Seven Kingdoms of the World are subject,
And the Seas Seven but droppings of his Largess.
Good luck to him who under other Name
Taught us to veil the Praises of a Power
To which the Initiate scarce find open Door."
Sat a Lover solitary
Self-discoursing in a Corner,
Passionate and ever-changing
Invocation pouring out;
Sometimes Sun and Moon; and sometimes
Under Hyacinth half-hidden
Roses; or the lofty Cypress,
And the little Weed below.
Nightingaling thus a Noodle
Heard him, and, completely puzzled,â
"What!" quoth he, "And you, a Lover,
Raving not about your Mistress,
But about the Moon and Roses!"
Answer'd he; "Oh thou that aimest
Wide of Love, and Lover's Language
Wholly misinterpreting;
Sun and Moon are but my Lady's
Self, as any Lover knows;
Hyacinth I said, and meant her
Hairâher Cheek was in the Roseâ
And I myself the wretched Weed
That in her Cypress Shadow grows."
Now was SalÃ¡mÃ¡n in his Prime of Growth,
His Cypress Stature risen to high Top,
And the new-blooming Garden of his Beauty
Began to bear; and AbsÃ¡l long'd to gather;
But the Fruit grew upon too high a Bough,
To which the Noose of her Desire was short.
She too rejoiced in Beauty of her own
No whit behind SalÃ¡mÃ¡n, whom she now
Began enticing with her Sorcery.
Now from her Hair would twine a musky Chain,
To bind his Heartânow twist it into Curls
Nestling innumerable Temptations;
Doubled the Darkness of her Eyes with Surma
To make him lose his way, and over them
Adorn'd the Bows that were to shoot him then;
Now to the Rose-leaf of her Cheek would add
Fresh Rose, and then a Grain of Musk lay there,
The Bird of the BelovÃ©d Heart to snare.
Now with a Laugh would break the Ruby Seal
That lockt up Pearl; or busied in the Room
Would smite her Hand perhapsâon that pretence
To lift and show the Silver in her Sleeve;
Or hastily rising clash her Golden Anclets
To draw the CrownÃ©d Head under her Feet.
Thus by innumerable Bridal wiles
She went about soliciting his Eyes,
Which she would scarce let lose her for a Moment;
For well she knew that mainly by the Eye
Love makes his Sign, and by no other Road
Enters and takes possession of the Heart.
Burning with desire Zulaikha
Blank as an untarnisht Mirror,
Spotless as the Heart of YÃºsuf.
Then she made a cunning Painter
Multiply her Image round it:
Not an Inch of Wall but echoed
Then amid them all in all her
Glory sat she down, and sent for
YÃºsufâshe began a Tale
Of Loveâand Lifted up her Veil.
From her Look he turn'd, but turning
Wheresoever, ever saw her
Looking, looking at him still.
Then Desire arose within himâ
He was almost yieldingâalmost
Laying honey on her Lipâ
Spoke to himâand he withdrew
His Hand, and dropt the Skirt of Fortune.
Thus day by day did AbsÃ¡l tempt SalÃ¡mÃ¡n,
And by and bye her Wiles began to work.
Her Eyes Narcissus stole his sleepâtheir Lashes
Pierc'd to his Heartâout from her Locks a Snake
Bit himâand bitter, bitter on his Tongue
Became the Memory of her honey Lip.
He saw the Ringlet restless on her Cheek,
And he too quiver'd with Desire; his Tears
Turn'd Crimson from her Cheek, whose musky spot
Infected all his soul with Melancholy.
Love drew him from behind the Veil, where yet
Withheld him better Resolutionâ
"Oh, should the Food I long for, tasted, turn
Unwholesome, and if all my Life to come
Should sicken from one momentary Sweet!"
On the Sea-shore sat a Raven,
Blind, and from the bitter Cistern
Forc'd his only Drink to draw.
Flying over Fortune's Shadow
Cast upon his Head, and callingâ
"Come, poor Son of Salt, and taste of
Sweet, sweet Water from my Maw."
Said the Raven, "If I taste it
Once, the Salt I have to live on
May for ever turn to Loathing;
And I sit a Bird accurst
Now when SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's Heart turn'd to AbsÃ¡l,
Her Star was happy in the HeavensâOld Love
Put forth afreshâDesire doubled his Bond:
And of the running Time she watch'd an Hour
To creep into the Mansion of her Moon
And satiate her soul upon his Lips.
And the Hour came; she stole into his Chamberâ
Ran up to him, Life's offer in her Handâ
And, falling like a Shadow at his Feet,
She laid her Face beneath. SalÃ¡mÃ¡n then
Put forth his Handâhe rais'd her in his Armsâ
He held her trembling thereâand from that Fount
Drew first Desire; then Deeper from her Lips,
That, yielding, mutually drew from his
A Wine that ever drawn from never fail'dâ
So through the Dayâso through another stillâ
The Day became a Seventhâthe Seventh a Moonâ
The Moon a Yearâwhile they rejoiced together,
Thinking their pleasure never was to end.
But rolling Heaven whisper'd from his Ambush,
"So in my License is it not set down.
Ah for the sweet Societies I make
At Morning and before the Nightfall break;
Ah for the Bliss that with the Setting Sun
I mix, and, with his Rising, all is done!"
Into Bagdad came a hungry
Arabâafter many days of waiting
In to the KhalÃ­fah's Supper
Push'd, and got before a Pasty
Soon as seen, Indecent Hunger
Seizes up and swallows down;
Then his mouth undaunted wipingâ
"Oh KhalÃ­fah, hear me Swear,
Not of any other Pasty
Than of Thine to sup or dine."
The KhalÃ­fah laugh'd and answer'd;
"Fool; who thinkest to determine
Take and thrust him from the Gate!"
While a Full Year was counted by the Moon,
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n and AbsÃ¡l rejoiced together,
And for so long he stood not in the face
Of Sage or Shah, and their bereavÃ©d Hearts
Were torn in twain with the Desire of Him.
They question'd those about him, and from them
Heard something; then Himself in Presence summon'd,
And, subtly sifting on all sides, so plied
Interrogation till it hit the Mark,
And all the Truth was told. Then Sage and Shah
Struck out with Hand and Foot in his Redress.
And First with Reason, which is also Best;
Reason that rights the Retrogradeâcompletes
The ImperfectâReason that unties the Knot:
For Reason is the Fountain from of old
From which the Prophets drew, and none beside.
Who boasts of other Inspiration liesâ
There are no other Prophets than The Wise.
First spoke The Shah;â"SalÃ¡mÃ¡n, Oh my Soul,
And making bloom the Court of Hope with Rose;
Years Rose-bud-like my own Blood I devour'd
Till in my hand I carried thee, my Rose;
Oh do not tear my Garment from my Hand,
Nor wound thy Father with a Dagger Thorn.
Years for thy sake the Crown has worn my Brow,
And Years my Foot been growing to the Throne
Only for TheeâOh spurn them not with Thine;
Oh turn thy Face from Dalliance unwise,
Lay not thy Heart's hand on a Minion!
For what thy Proper Pastime? Is it not
To mount and manage Rakhsh along the Field;
Not, with no stouter weapon than a Love-lock,
Idly reclining on a Silver Breast.
Go, fly thine Arrow at the Antelope
And Lionâlet not me my Lion see
Slain by the Arrow eyes of a GhazÃ¡l.
Go, flash thy Steel among the Ranks of Men,
And smite the Warriors' Necks; not, flying them,
Lay down thine own beneath a Woman's Foot,
Leave off such doing in the Name of God,
Nor bring thy Father weeping to the Ground;
Years have I held myself aloft, and all
For TheeâOh Shame if thou prepare my Fall!"
When before ShirÃºeh's Feet
Drencht in Blood fell Kai Khusrau,
He declared this Parableâ
"Wretch!âThere was a Branch that, waxing
Wanton o'er the Root he drank from,
Drain'd wherewith Himself to crown!
Died the Rootâand with it died
The Branchâand barren was brought down!"
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n heardâthe Sea of his Soul was mov'd,
Dust of thy Throne ascending Foot am I;
Whatever thou Desirest I would do,
But sicken of my own Incompetence;
Not in the Hand of my infirmer Will
To carry into Deed mine own Desire.
Time upon Time I torture mine own Soul,
Devising liberation from the Snare
I languish in. But when upon that Moon
I _think_, my Soul relapsesâand when _look_â
I leave both Worlds behind to follow her!"
The Shah ceased Counsel, and the Sage began.
"Oh Thou new Vintage of a Garden old,
Who read'st the Seven and Four; interpretest
The writing on the Leaves of Night and Dayâ
Who hold'st the Key of Adam's Treasuryâ
(Know thine own Dignity and slight it not,
For Thou art Greater yet than all I tell)â
The Mighty Hand that mix'd thy Dust inscribed
And turn the Mirror of the Soul to Spirit,
Until it be with Spirit all possest,
Drown'd in the Light of Intellectual Truth.
Oh veil thine Eyes from Mortal Paramour,
And follow not her Step!âFor what is She?â
Her very Garment-hem Pollution!
For such Pollution madden not thine Eyes,
Waste not thy Body's Strength, nor taint thy Soul,
Supreme is thine Original Degree,
Thy Star upon the Top of Heaven; but Lust
Will fling it down even unto the Dust!"
Quoth a Muezzin unto Crested
Prophesies of Dawn, or startles
At the wing of Time, like Thee.
One so wise methinks were fitter
Than with those poor Hens about him,
"And," replied the Cock, "in Heaven
Once I was; but by my Evil
Lust am fallen down to raking
With my wretched Hens about me
I were even now in Eden
When from The Sage these words SalÃ¡mÃ¡n heard,
The breath of Wisdom round his Palate blew;
He saidâ"Oh Darling of the Soul of Plato,
To whom a hundred Aristotles bow;
Oh Thou that an Eleventh to the Ten
Original Intelligences addest,â
I lay my Face before Thee in the Dust,
The humblest Scholar of thy Court am I;
Whose every word I find a Well of Wisdom,
And hasten to imbibe it in my Soul.
But clear unto thy clearest Eye it is,
That Choice is not within OneselfâTo Do,
From that which I originally am
How shall I swerve? or how put forth a Sign
Beyond the Power that is by Nature Mine?"
Unto the Soul that is confused by Love
Comes Sorrow after Sorrowâmost of all
To Love whose only Friendship is Reproof,
And overmuch of Counselâwhereby Love
Grows stubborn, and increases the Disease.
Love unreproved is a delicious food;
Reproved, is Feeding on one's own Heart's Blood.
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n heard; his Soul came to his Lips;
Reproaches struck not AbsÃ¡l out of him,
But drove Confusion in; bitter became
The Drinking of the sweet Draught of Delight,
And wan'd the Splendour of his Moon of Beauty.
Bled from the Arrow, and his Anguish grewâ
How bear it?âAble to endure one wound,
From Wound on Wound no remedy but Flight;
Day after Day, Design upon Design,
He turn'd the Matter over in his Heart,
And, after all, no Remedy but Flight.
Resolv'd on that, he victuall'd and equipp'd
A Camel, and one Night he led it forth,
And mountedâhe and AbsÃ¡l at his side,
The fair SalÃ¡mÃ¡n and AbsÃ¡l the Fair,
Together on one Camel side by side,
Twin Kernels in a single Almond packt.
And True Love murmurs not, however small
His Chamberânay, the straitest best of all.
When the Moon of Canaan YÃºsuf
Night by Night Zulaikha went
To see himâfor her Heart was broken.
Then to her said One who never
Yet had tasted of Love's Garden:
"Leavest thou thy Palace-Chamber
For the Felon's narrow Cell?"
Answer'd She, "Without my Lover,
Were my Chamber Heaven's Horizon,
It were closer than an Ant's eye;
And the Ant's eye wider were
Than Heaven, my Lover with me there!"
Six days SalÃ¡mÃ¡n on the Camel rode,
And then Remembrance of foregone Reproach
Abode not by him; and upon the Seventh
He halted on the Seashore, and beheld
An Ocean boundless as the Heaven above,
That, reaching its Circumference from KÃ¡f
To KÃ¡f, down to the Back of Gau and Mahi
Descended, and its Stars were Creatures' Eyes.
The Face of it was as it were a Range
Of moving Mountains; or as endless Hosts
Of Camels trooping from all Quarters up,
Furious, with the Foam upon their Lips.
In it innumerable glittering Fish
But for an Instant visible, glancing through
As Silver Scissors slice a blue Brocade;
Though were the Dragon from its Hollow roused,
The Dragon of the Stars would stare Aghast.
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n eyed the Sea, and cast about
To cross itâand forthwith upon the Shore
Devis'd a Shallop like a Crescent Moon,
Wherein that Sun and Moon in happy Hour,
Enter'd as into some Celestial Sign;
That, figured like a Bow, but Arrow-like
In Flight, was feather'd with a little Sail,
And, pitcht upon the Water like a Duck,
So with her Bosom sped to her Desire.
When they had sail'd their Vessel for a Moon,
And marr'd their Beauty with the wind o' th' Sea,
Suddenly in mid Sea reveal'd itself
An Isle, beyond Description beautiful
An Isle that all was Garden; not a Bird
Of Note or Plume in all the World but there;
There as in Bridal Retinue array'd
And those who tuned their Bills among the Trees
That Arm in Arm from Fingers paralyz'd
With any Breath of Air Fruit moist and dry
Down scatter'd in Profusion to their Feet,
Where Fountains of Sweet Water ran, and round
Sunshine and Shadow chequer-chased the Ground.
Here Iram Garden seemed in Secresy
Or Paradise, forgetful of the Day
Of Audit, lifted from her Face the Veil.
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n saw the Isle, and thought no more
Of Furtherâthere with AbsÃ¡l he sat down,
AbsÃ¡l and he together side by side
Rejoicing like the Lily and the Rose,
Together like the Body and the Soul.
Under its Trees in one another's Arms
They sleptâthey drank its Fountains hand in handâ
Sought Sugar with the Parrotâor in Sport
Paraded with the Peacockâraced the Partridgeâ
Or fell a-talking with the Nightingale.
There was the Rose without a Thorn, and there
The Treasure and no Serpent to bewareâ
What sweeter than your Mistress at your side
In such a Solitude, and none to Chide!
Whisper'd one to WÃ¡mikâ"Oh Thou
What is it that like a Shadow
Movest thou about in Silence
WÃ¡mik answered, "Even thisâ
To fly with Azra to the Desert;
There by so remote a Fountain
That, whichever way one travell'd
League on League, one yet should never,
Never meet the Face of Manâ
There to pitch my Tentâfor ever
There to gaze on my BelovÃ©d;
Gaze, till Gazing out of Gazing
Grew to Being Her I gaze on,
She and I no more, but in One.
Undivided Being blended,
All that is not One must ever
Suffer with the Wound of Absence;
And whoever in Love's City
Enters, finds but Room for One,
When by and bye The Shah was made aware
Of that Soul-wasting absence of his Son,
He reach'd a Cry to Heav'nâhis Eyelashes
Wept BloodâSearch everywhere he set a-foot,
But none could tell the hidden Mystery.
Then bade he bring a Mirror that he had,
A Mirror, like the Bosom of the wise,
Reflecting all the World, and lifting up
The Veil from all its Secret, Good and Evil.
That Mirror bade he bring, and, in its Face
Looking, beheld the Face of his Desire.
He saw those Lovers in the Solitude,
Turn'd from the World, and all its ways, and People,
And looking only in each other's Eyes,
And never finding any Sorrow there.
The Shah beheld them as they were, and Pity
Fell on his Eyes, and he reproach'd them not;
And, gathering all their Life into his Hand,
Not a Thread lost, disposed in Order all.
That, seeing Two who draw one Breath together
Unshatter'd by the Stone of Separation,
Is loath their sweet Communion to destroy,
Or cast a Tangle in the Skein of Joy.
The Arrows that assail the Lords of Sorrow
Come from the Hand of Retribution.
Do Well, that in thy Turn Well may betide Thee;
And turn from Ill, that Ill may turn beside Thee.
FirhÃ¡d, Moulder of the Mountain,
Love-distracted looked to ShÃ­rÃ­n,
And ShÃ­rÃ­n the Sculptor's Passion
Saw, and turn'd her Heart to Him.
Caught and carried up the Harvest
Plotting with that ancient Hag
Of Fate, the Sculptor's Cup he poison'd
And remained the Lord of Love.
SoâBut Fate that Fate avenges
Arms ShirÃºeh with the Dagger,
That at once from ShÃ­rÃ­n tore him,
Hurl'd him from the Throne of Glory.
But as the days went on, and still The Shah
Beheld SalÃ¡mÃ¡n how sunk in AbsÃ¡l,
And yet no Hand of better Effort lifted;
But still the Crown that shall adorn his Head,
And still the Throne that waited for his Foot,
Trampled from Memory by a Base Desire,
Of which the Soul was still unsatisfiedâ
Then from the Sorrow of The Shah fell Fire;
To Gracelessness Ungracious he became,
And, quite to shatter his rebellious Lust,
Upon SalÃ¡mÃ¡n all his Will discharged.
And Lo! SalÃ¡mÃ¡n to his Mistress turn'd,
But could not reach herâlook'd and look'd again,
And palpitated tow'rd herâbut in Vain!
Oh Misery! what to the Bankrupt worse
Than Gold he cannot reach! To one Athirst
Than Fountain to the Eye and Lip forbid!â
Or than Heaven opened to the Eyes in Hell!â
Yet, when SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's Anguish was extreme,
The Door of Mercy open'd in his Face;
He saw and knew his Father's Hand outstretcht
To lift him from Perditionâtimidly,
Timidly tow'rd his Father's Face his own
He lifted, Pardon-pleading, Crime-confest,
As the stray Bird one day will find her Nest.
A Disciple ask'd a Master,
"By what Token should a Father
Vouch for his reputed Son?"
Growingâwhether Wise or Foolish.
"Lo the disregarded Darnel
With itself adorns the Wheat-field,
Satisfies the Farmer's Eye;
But come once the Hour of Harvest.
And another Grain shall answer,
When The Shah saw SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's face again,
And breath'd the Breath of Reconciliation,
He laid the Hand of Love upon his Shoulder,
The Kiss of Welcome on his Cheek, and said,
"Oh Thou, who lost, Love's Banquet lost its Salt,
And Mankind's Eye its Pupil!âThy Return
Is as another Sun to Heaven; a new
Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.
Arise, Oh Moon of Majesty unwaned!
Thy Kingdom is the Kingdom of the World!â
Lo! Throne and Crown await TheeâThrone and Crown
Without thy Impress but uncurrent Gold,
Not to be stamp'd by one not worthy Them;
Behold! The Rebel's Face is at thy Door;
Let him not triumphâlet the Wicked dread
The Throne under thy Feet, the Crown upon thy Head.
Oh Spurn them not behind Thee! Oh my Son,
Wipe Thou the Woman's Henna from thy Hand:
Withdraw Thee from the Minion who from Thee
Dominion draws; the Time is come to choose,
Thy Mistress or the World to hold or lose."
Wise Headâclean Heartâstrong Armâand open Hand.
Wise is He notâContinent cannot beâ
Who binds himself to an unworthy Lust;
Nor Valiant, who submits to a weak Woman;
Nor Liberal, who cannot draw his Hand
From that in which so basely he is busied.
And of these Four who misses All or One
Ah the poor Lover!âIn the changing Hands
Of Day and Night no wretcheder than He!
No Arrow from the Bow of Evil Fate
But reaches himâone Dagger at his Throat,
Another comes to wound him from behind.
Wounded by Loveâthen wounded by Reproof
Of Lovingâand, scarce stauncht the Blood of Shame
By flying from his Loveâthen, worst of all,
Love's back-blow of Revenge for having fled!
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n heardâhe rent the Robe of Peaceâ
He came to loathe his Life, and long for Death,
(For better Death itself than Life in Death)â
He turn'd his face with AbsÃ¡l to the Desertâ
Enter'd the deadly Plain; Branch upon Branch
Cut down, and gather'd in a lofty Pile,
And fired. They look'd upon the Flames, those Twoâ
They look'd, and they rejoiced; and hand in hand
They sprang into the Fire. The Shah who saw
In secret all had order'd; and the Flame,
Directed by his Self-fulfilling Will,
Devouring utterly AbsÃ¡l, pass'd by
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n harmlessâthe pure Gold return'd
Entire, but all the baser Metal burn'd.
Heaven's Dome is but a wondrous House of Sorrow,
And Happiness therein a lying Fable.
When first they mix'd the Clay of Man, and cloth'd
Rain Sorrows over him from Head to Foot;
And when the Forty Mornings pass'd to Night,
Then came one Morning-Showerâone Morning-Shower
Of Joyâto Forty of the Rain of Sorrow!â
And though the better Fortune came at last
To seal the Work, yet every Wise Man knows
Such Consummation never can be here!
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n fired the Pile; and in the Flame
That, passing him, consumed AbsÃ¡l like Straw,
Died his Divided Self, and there survived
His Individual; and, like a Body
From which the Soul is parted, all alone.
Then rose his Cry to Heavenâhis Eyelashes
Dropt Bloodâhis Sighs stood like a Smoke in Heaven,
And Morning rent her Garment at his Anguish.
He tore his Bosom with his Nailsâhe smote
Stone on his Bosomâlooking then on hands
He tore them with his Teeth. And when came Night,
He hid him in some Corner of the House,
And communed with the Fantom of his Love.
"Oh Thou whose Presence so long sooth'd my Soul,
Now burnt with thy Remembrance! Oh so long
The Light that fed these Eyes now dark with Tears!
Oh Long, Long Home of Love now lost for Ever!
We were Togetherâthat was all Enoughâ
We two rejoicing in each other's Eyes,
Infinitely rejoicingâall the World
No Road to reach us, nor an Eye to watchâ
All Day we whisper'd in each other's Ears,
All Night we slept in one another's Armsâ
All seem'd to our Desire, as if the Hand
Of unjust Fortune were for once too short.
Oh would to God that when I lit the Pyre
The Flame had left Thee Living and me Dead,
Not Living worse than Dead, depriv'd of Thee!
Oh were I but with Thee!âat any Cost
Stript of this terrible Self-solitude!
Oh but with Thee Annihilationâlost,
Or in Eternal Intercourse renew'd!"
Slumber-drunk an Arab in the
Desert off his Camel tumbled,
Who the lighter of her Burden
Ran upon her road rejoicing.
When the Arab woke at morning,
Rubb'd his Eyes and look'd about himâ
Quoth he, "Camel of my Soul!â
That Lost with Her I lost might be,
Or found, She might be found with Me!"
When in this Plight The Shah SalÃ¡mÃ¡n saw,
His Soul was struck with Anguish, and the Vein
Of Life within was strangledâwhat to do
He knew not. Then he turn'd him to The Sageâ
"On Altar of the World, to whom Mankind
Nothing but Wisdom can untie the Knot;
AbsÃ¡l is perisht; and, because of Her,
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n dedicates his Life to Sorrow;
I cannot bring back Her, nor comfort Him.
Lo, I have said! My Sorrow is before Thee;
From thy far-reaching Wisdom help Thou Me
For I am very wretched!" Then The Sageâ
"Oh Thou that err'st not from the Road of Right,
If but SalÃ¡mÃ¡n have not broke my Bond,
Nor lies beyond the Noose of my FirmÃ¡n,
He quickly shall unload his Heart to me,
And I will find a Remedy for all."
Then The Sage counsell'd, and SalÃ¡mÃ¡n heard,
And drew the Wisdom down into his Heart;
And, sitting in the Shadow of the Perfect,
His Soul found Quiet under; sweet it seem'd,
Sweeping the Chaff and Litter from his own,
To be the very Dust of Wisdom's Door,
Slave of the FirmÃ¡n of the Lord of Life,
Then The Sage marvell'd at his Towardness,
And wrought in Miracle in his behalf.
He pour'd the Wine of Wisdom in his Cup,
He laid the Dew of Peace upon his lips;
And when Old Love return'd to Memory,
And broke in Passion from his Lips, The Sage
Under whose waxing Will Existence rose
Responsive, and, relaxing, waned again,
Raising a Fantom Image of AbsÃ¡l
Set it awhile before SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's Eyes,
Till, having sow'd the Seed of Quiet there,
It went again down to Annihilation.
But ever, for the Sum of his Discourse,
The Sage would tell of a Celestial Love;
"Zuhrah," he said, "the Lustre of the Starsâ
'Fore whom the Beauty of the Brightest wanes;
Who were she to reveal her perfect Beauty,
The Sun and Moon would craze; Zuhrah," he said,
"The Sweetness of the Banquetânone in Song
Like Herâher Harp filling the Ear of Heaven,
That Dervish-dances at her Harmony."
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n listen'd, and inclin'dâagain
Repeated, Inclination ever grew;
Until The Sage beholding in his Soul
The Spirit quicken, so effectually
With Zuhrah wrought, that she reveal'd herself
In her pure Beauty to SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's Soul,
And washing AbsÃ¡l's Image from his Breast,
There reign'd instead. Celestial Beauty seen,
He left the Earthly; and, once come to know
The Crown of Empire how supreme a Lot!
The Throne of the SultÃ¡n how high!âBut not
For AllâNone but the Heaven-ward Foot may dare
To mountâThe Head that touches Heaven to wear!â
When the Belov'd of Royal Augury
Was rescued from the Bondage of AbsÃ¡l,
Then he arose, and shaking off the Dust
Of that lost Travel, girded up his Heart,
And look'd with undefilÃ©d Robe to Heaven.
Then was His Head worthy to wear the Crown,
His Foot to mount the Throne. And then The Shah
Summon'd the Chiefs of Cities and of States,
Summon'd the Absolute Ones who wore the Ring,
And such a Banquet order'd as is not
For Sovereign Assemblement the like
No armÃ©d Host, nor Captain of a Host,
From all the Quarters of the World, but there;
Of whom not one but to SalÃ¡mÃ¡n did
Obeisance, and lifted up his Neck
To yoke it under his Supremacy.
Then The Shah crown'd him with the Golden Crown,
And set the Golden Throne beneath his Feet.
And over all the Heads of the Assembly,
With the Diamond of Wisdom cut and said:â
Eternal, nor the Sum of right Desire;
Make thou the Faith-preserving Intellect
Thy Counsellor; and considering To-day
To-morrow's Seed-field, ere That come to bear,
Sow with the Harvest of Eternity.
All Work with Wisdom hath to doâby that
Stampt current only; what Thyself to do
Art wise, that _Do_; what not, consult the Wise,
Turn not thy Face away from the old Ways,
That were the Canon of the Kings of Old;
Nor cloud with Tyranny the Glass of Justice;
But rather strive that all Confusion
Change by thy Justice to its opposite.
In whatsoever Thou shalt Take or Give
Look to the _How_; Giving and Taking still,
Not by the backward Counsel of the Godless,
But by the Law of Faith increase and Give.
Drain not thy People's purseâthe Tyranny
Which Thee enriches at thy Subjects' cost,
Awhile shall make Thee strong; but in the End
Shall bow thy Neck beneath a Double Burden.
The Tyrant goes to Hellâfollow not Himâ
To save and not destroy; nor at their Loss
To lift Thyself above the Shepherd's calling.
For which is for the other, Flock or Shepherd?
And join with Thee true Men to keep the Flock.
Dogs, if you willâbut Trustyâhead in leash,
And least of all the Wolf's Accomplices,
Their Jaws blood-dripping from the Tyrant's Shambles.
For Shahs must have VizÃ­rsâbut be they Wise
And Trustyâknowing well the Realm's Estateâ
(For who eats Profit of a Fool? and least
A wise King girdled by a Foolish Council)â
Knowing how far to Shah and Subject bound
On either Handânot by Extortion,
Nor Usury wrung from the People's purse,
Their Master's and their own Estates (to whom
Enough is apt enough to make them Rebel)
Feeding to such a Surplus as feeds Hell.
Proper in Soul and Body be Theyâpitiful
To Povertyâhospitable to the Saintâ
Their sweet Access a Salve to wounded Hearts,
Their Vengeance terrible to the Evil Doer,
Thy Heralds through the Country bringing Thee
Report of Good or Illâwhich to confirm
By thy peculiar Eyeâand least of all
Suffering Accuser also to be Judgeâ
By surest Steps builds up Prosperity."
An Inner Meaning liesâThis Story now
(Whereto the Wise hath found himself a way)
What signifies The Shah? and what the Sage?
And what SalÃ¡mÃ¡n not of Woman born?
And what AbsÃ¡l who drew him to Desire?
And what the Kingdom that awaited him
When he had drawn his Garment from her Hand?
What means that Fiery Pile? and what The Sea?
And what that Heavenly Zuhrah who at last
Clear'd AbsÃ¡l from the Mirror of his Soul?
Learn part by part the Mystery from me;
All Ear from Head to Foot and Understanding be.
The Incomparable Creator, when this World
He did create, created First of All
Of Ten Intelligences, of which the Last
Sole Agent is in this our Universe,
Active Intelligence so call'd; The One
Of Joy and Sorrow, Himself apart from Matter,
In Essence and in Energyâhis Treasure
Subject to no such TalismanâHe yet
Hath fashion'd all that isâMaterial Form,
And Spiritual, sprung from Himâby Him
Directed all, and in his Bounty drown'd.
Therefore is He that FirmÃ¡n-issuing Shah
To whom the World was subject. But because
What He distributes to the Universe
Himself from still a Higher Power receives,
The Wise, and all who comprehend aright,
Will recognise that Higher in The Sage.
His the Prime Spirit that, spontaneously
Was from no Womb of Matter reproduced
A Special Essence called The Soulâa Child
Fresh sprung from Heaven in Raiment undefiled
Of Sensual Taint, and therefore call'd SalÃ¡mÃ¡n.
And who AbsÃ¡l?âThe Lust-adoring Body,
Slave to the Blood and Senseâthrough whom The Soul,
Although the Body's very Life it be,
Does yet imbibe the Knowledge and Desire
Of Things of Sense; and these united thus
By such a Tie God only can unloose,
Body and Soul are Lovers Each of other.
What is The Sea on which they sail'd?âThe Sea
Of Animal Desireâthe Sensual Abyss,
Under whose Waters lie a World of Being
Swept far from God in that Submersion.
And wherefore was it AbsÃ¡l in that Isle
Deceived in her Delight, and that SalÃ¡mÃ¡n
Fell short of his Desire?âThat was to show
How Passion tires, and how with Time begins
And what the turning of SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's Heart
Back to the Shah, and looking to the Throne
Of the Lost Soul to its true Parentage,
And back from Carnal Error looking up
What is The Fire?âAscetic Discipline,
That burns away the Animal Alloy,
Till all the Dross of Matter be consumed,
And the Essential Soul, its Raiment clean
Of Mortal Taint, be left. But forasmuch
As any Life-long Habit so consumed,
May well recur a Pang for what is lost,
Therefore The Sage set in SalÃ¡mÃ¡n's Eyes
A Soothing Fantom of the Past, but still
Told of a Better Venus, till his Soul
She fill'd, and blotted out his Mortal Love.
For what is Zuhrah?âThat Divine Perfection,
Wherewith the Soul inspir'd and all array'd
In Intellectual Light is Royal blest,
And mounts The Throne and wears The Crown, and Reigns
Which to know wholly ponder in thy Heart,
Till all its ancient Secret be enlarged.
EnoughâThe written Summary I close,
excitement they produce exceeds that of the grape. He who would
"The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,"
"The rain it raineth every day,"
and the main story.
Take, as specimens of these gnomic verses, the following:â
"The secret that should not be blown
Not one of thy nation must know;
You may padlock the gate of a town,
But never the mouth of a foe."
Or this of Omar Chiam:â
"On earth's wide thoroughfares below
Two only men contented go:
Who knows what's right and what's forbid,
And he from whom is knowledge hid."
Here is a poem on a melon, by Adsched of Meru:â
"Colour, taste, and smell, smaragdus, sugar and musk,â
Amber for the tongue, for the eye a picture rare,â
If you cut the fruit in slices, every slice a crescent fair,â
If you leave it whole, the full harvest moon is there."
"I batter the wheel of heaven
When it rolls not rightly by;
I am not one of the snivellers,
Who fall thereon and die."
The rapidity of his turns is always surprising us:â
"See how the roses burn!
Bring wine to quench the fire!
Alas! the flames come up with us,â
We perish with desire."
"Alas! till now I had not known
My guide and Fortune's guide are one."
"The understanding's copper coin
Counts not with the gold of love."
"'Tis writ on Paradise's gate,
'Woe to the dupe that yields to Fate!'"
"The world is a bride superbly dressed;
Who weds her for dowry must pay his soul."
"Loose the knots of the heart; never think on thy fate;
No Euclid has yet disentangled that snarl."
"There resides in the grieving
A poison to kill;
Beware to go near them,
'Tis pestilent still."
"I will be drunk and down with wine;
Treasures we find in a ruined house."
"To be wise the dull brain so earnestly throbs,
Bring bands of wine for the stupid head."
"The Builder of heaven
Hath sundered the earth,
So that no footway
Leads out of it forth.
"On turnpikes of wonder
Wine leads the mind forth,
Straight, sidewise, and upward,
West, southward, and north.
"Stands the vault adamantine
The wine-cup shall ferry
Thee o'er it away."
The other merit of Hafiz is his intellectual liberty, which is a
Hypocrisy is the perpetual butt of his arrows.
"Let us draw the cowl through the brook of wine."
We do not wish to strew sugar on bottled spiders, or try to make
"I am; what I am
My dust will be again."
Every song of Hafiz affords new proof of the unimportance of your
"What lovelier forms things wear,
Now that the Shah comes back!"
And again:â
"Thy foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down,
Poises Arcturus aloft morning and evening his spear."
It is told of Hafiz, that, when he had written a compliment to a
handsome youth,â
"Take my heart in thy hand, O beautiful boy of Shiraz!
I would give for the mole on thy cheek Samarcand and Buchara!"â
"Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry":
"The melancholy Cowley lay."
But it is easy to Hafiz. It gives him the opportunity of the most
"Out of the East, out of the West, no man understands me;
O, the happier I, who confide to none but the wind!
This morning heard I how the lyre of the stars resounded,
'Sweeter tones have we heard from Hafiz!'"
"Fit for the Pleiad's azure chord
The songs I sung, the pearls I bored."
"I have no hoarded treasure,
Yet have I rich content;
The first from Allah to the Shah,
The last to Hafiz went."
"High heart, O Hafiz! though not thine
Fine gold and silver ore;
More worth to thee the gift of song,
And the clear insight more."
"O Hafiz speak not of thy need;
Are not these verses thine?
Then all the poets are agreed,
No man can less repine."
"Oft have I said, I say it once more,
I, a wanderer, do not stray from myself,
I am a kind of parrot; the mirror is holden to me;
What the Eternal says, I stammering say again.
Give me what you will; I eat thistles as roses,
And according to my food I grow and I give.
Scorn me not, but know I have the pearl,
And am only seeking one to receive it."
And his claim has been admitted from the first. The muleteers and
"My phÅnix long ago secured
His nest in the sky-vault's cope;
In the body's cage immured,
He was weary of life's hope.
"Round and round this heap of ashes
Now flies the bird amain,
But in that odorous niche of heaven
Nestles the bird again.
"Once, flies he upwards, he will perch
On Tuba's golden bough;
His home is on that fruited arch
Which cools the blest below.
"If over this world of ours
His wings my phÅnix spread,
How gracious falls on land and sea
The soul-refreshing shade!
"Either world inhabits he,
See oft below him planets roll;
His body is all of air compact,
Of Allah's love his soul."
Here is an ode which is said to be a favourite with all educated
"Come!âthe palace of heaven rest on aÃ«ry pillars,â
Come, and bring me wine; our days are wind.
I declare myself the slave of that masculine soul
Which ties and alliance on earth once for ever renounces.
Told I thee yester-morn how the Iris of heaven
Brought to me in my cup a gospel of joy?
O high-flying falcon! the Tree of Life is thy perch;
This nook of grief fits thee ill for a nest.
Hearken! they call to thee down from the ramparts of heaven;
I cannot divine what holds thee here in a net.
I, too, have a counsel for thee; O mark it and keep it.
Since I received the same from the Master above:
Seek not for faith or for truth in a world of light-minded girls;
Cumber thee not for the world, and this my precept forget not,
'Tis but a toy that a vagabond sweetheart has left us.
Accept whatever befalls; uncover thy brow from thy locks;
Never to me nor to thee was option imparted;
Neither endurance nor truth belongs to the laugh of the rose.
The loving nightingale mourns;âcause enow for mourning;â
Why envies the bird the streaming verses of Hafiz?
Know that a god bestowed on him eloquent speech."
"By breath of beds of roses drawn,
I found the grove in the morning pure,
In the concert of the nightingales
My drunken brain to cure.
"With unrelated glance
I looked the rose in the eye:
The rose in the hour of gloaming
Flamed like a lamp hard-by.
"She was of her beauty proud.
And prouder of her youth,
The while unto her flaming heart
The bulbul gave his truth.
"The sweet narcissus closed
Its eye, with passion pressed;
The tulips out of envy burned
Moles in their scarlet breast,
"The lilies white prolonged
Their sworded tongue to the smell;
The clustering anemones
Their pretty secrets tell."
Presently we have,â
"All day the rain
Bathed the dark hyacinths in vain,
The flood may pour from morn till night
Nor wash the pretty Indians white."
And so onward, through many a page.
"O'er the garden water goes the wind alone
To rasp and to polish the cheek of the wave;
The fire is quenched on the dear hearthstone,
But it burns again on the tulips brave."
Ibn Jemin writes thus:
"Whilst I disdain the populace,
I find no peer in higher place,
Friend is a word of royal tone,
Friend is a poem all alone.
"Wisdom is like the elephant,
Lofty and rare inhabitant:
He dwells in deserts or in courts;
With hucksters he has no resorts."
Dschami says,â
"A friend is he, who, hunted as a foe,
So much the kindlier shows him than before;
Throw stones at him, or ruder javelins throw,
He builds with stone and steel a firmer floor."
"The chemist of love
Will this perishing mould,
Were it made out of mire,
Transmute into gold."â
he proceeds to the celebration of his passion; and nothing in his
"And since round lines are drawn
My darling's lips about,
The very Moon looks puzzled on,
And hesitates in doubt
If the sweet curve that rounds thy mouth
Be not her true way to the South."
His ingenuity never sleeps:â
"Ah could I hide me in my song,
To kiss thy lips from which it flows!"
and plays in a thousand pretty courtesies:â
"Fair fall thy soft heart!
A good work wilt thou do?
O, pray for the dead
Whom thine eyelashes slew;"
"They strew in the paths of kings and czars
But for thy head I will pluck down stars,
And pave thy way with eyes.
"I have sought for thee a costlier dome
Than Mahmoud's palace high,
And thou, returning, find thy home
In the apple of Love's eye."
Then we have all degrees of passionate abandonment:â
"I know this perilous love-lane
No whither the traveller leads,
Yet my fancy the sweet scent of
Thy tangled tresses feeds.
"In the midnight of thy locks,
I renounce the day;
In the ring of thy rose-lips,
My heart forgets to pray."
And sometimes his love rises to a religious sentiment:â
"Plunge in your angry waves,
Renouncing doubt and care;
The flowing of the seven broad seas
Shall never wet thy hair.
"Is Allah's face on thee
Bending with love benign,
And thou not less on Allah's eye,
O fairest turnest thine."
"While roses bloomed along the plain,
The nightingale to the falcon said,
With closed mouth thou utterest,
Though dying, no last word to man.
Yet sitt'st thou on the hand of princes,
And feedest on the grouse's breast,
Squander in a single tone,
Lo! I feed myself with worms,
And my dwelling is the thorn.'â
The falcon answered, 'Be all ear:
I, experienced in affairs,
See fifty things, say never one;
But thee the people prizes not
Who, doing nothing, say'st a thousand.
To me, appointed to the chase,
The king's hand gives the grouse's breast;
Whilst a chatterer like thee
Must gnaw worms in the thorn. Farewell!'"
"A painter in China once painted a hall;â
Such a web never hung on an emperor's wall;â
One half from his brush with rich colours did run,
The other he touched with a beam of the sun;
So that all which delighted the eye in one side,
The same, point to point, in the other replied.
"In thee, friend, that Tyrian chamber is found;
Thine the star-pointing roof, and the base on the ground:
Is one half depicted with colours less bright?
Beware that the counterpart blazes with light!"
"I read on the porch of a palace bold
In a purple tablet letters cast,â
'A house though a million winters old,
A house of earth comes down at last;
Then quarry thy stones from the crystal All,
And build the dome that shall not fall.'"
"The eternal Watcher who doth wake
All night in the body's earthen chest,
Will of thine arms a pillow make,
And a bolster of thy breast."
"The bird-soul was ashamed;
Their body was quite annihilated;
They had cleaned themselves from the dust,
And were by the light ensouled.
What was, and was not,âthe Past,â
Was wiped out from their breast.
The sun from near-by beamed
Clearest light into their soul;
The resplendence of the Simorg beamed
As one back from all three.
They knew not, amazed, if they
Were either this or that.
They saw themselves all as Simorg,
Themselves in the eternal Simorg.
When to the Simorg up they looked,
They beheld him among themselves;
And when they looked on each other
They saw themselves in the Simorg.
A single look grouped the two parties,
The Simorg emerged, the Simorg vanished,
This in that, and that in this,
As the world has never heard.
So remained they, sunk in wonder,
Thoughtless in deepest thinking,
And quite unconscious of themselves.
Speechless prayed they to the Highest
To open this secret,
And to unlock _Thou_ and _We_.
There came an answer without tongue.â
'The Highest is a sun-mirror;
Who comes to Him sees himself therein,
Sees body and soul, and soul and body;
When you came to the Simorg,
Three therein appeared to you,
And, had fifty of you come,
So had you seen yourselves as many.
Him has none of us yet seen.
Can the gnat grasp with his teeth
The body of the elephant?
What you see is He not;
What you hear is He not.
The valleys which you traverse,
The actions which you perform,
They lie under our treatment
And among our properties
You as three birds are amazed,
Impatient, heartless, confused:
Far over you am I raised,
Ye blot out my highest being,
That ye may find yourselves on my throne;
For ever ye blot out yourselves,
As shadows in the sun. Farewell!'"
_With a Frontispiece in Colours from a Painting by_
RubÃ¡iyÃ¡t of Omar KhayyÃ¡m
SalÃ¡mÃ¡n and AbsÃ¡l
_Frontispiece in Colour specially designed by_
Pott 8vo. Cloth elegant 2s. 6d. net each; also
Tales from Shakespeare
_Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by_
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