I

W E who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
— And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We Poets of a proud old lineage
— Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, —

What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
— Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest,
Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales,
— And winds and shadows fall toward the West:

And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings
— In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep,
And closer round their breasts the ivy clings,
— Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep.

II

And how beguile you? Death has no repose
— Warmer and deeper than that Orient sand
Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those
— Who made the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

And now they wait and whiten peaceably,
— Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair:
They know time comes, not only you and I,
— But the whole world shall whiten, here or there;

When those long caravans that cross the plain
— With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells
Put forth no more for glory or for gain,
— Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells.

When the great markets by the sea shut fast
— All that calm Sunday that goes on and on:
When even lovers find their peace at last
— And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.

EPILOGUE

— At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time.

THE MERCHANTS ( together )

A WAY , for we are ready to a man!
— Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
— Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.

THE CHIEF DRAPER

Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
— Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
— And printed hangings in enormous bales?

THE CHIEF GROCER

We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
— Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
— As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.

THE PRINCIPAL JEWS

And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
— By Ali of Damascus; we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
— And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.

THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN

But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.


Poemopedia is an encyclopedia of poetry. Here we try to come with new poetry of some great poets. Subscribe to get one poetry everyday.

Read by Tom O'Bedlam

Reach out to us at: www.poemopedia.com
www.facebook.com/Poemopedia
www.instagram.com/_poemopedia
www.twitter.com/_poemopedia

свернуть