| |
| WHERE Time the measure of his hours | |
| By changeful bud and blossom keeps, | |
| And, like a young bride crowned with flowers, | |
| Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; | |
| |
| Where to her poet’s turban stone, | 5 |
| The Spring her gift of flowers imparts, | |
| Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown | |
| In the warm soil of Persian hearts; | |
| |
| There sat the stranger, where the shade | |
| Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, | 10 |
| While in the hot clear heaven delayed | |
| The long and still and weary day. | |
| |
| Strange trees and fruits above him hung, | |
| Strange odors filled the sultry air, | |
| Strange birds upon the branches swung, | 15 |
| Strange insect voices murmured there. | |
| |
| And strange bright blossoms shone around, | |
| Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, | |
| As if the Gheber’s soul had found | |
| A fitting home in Iran’s flowers. | 20 |
| |
| Whate’er he saw, whate’er he heard, | |
| Awakened feelings new and sad,— | |
| No Christian garb, nor Christian word, | |
| Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad, | |
| |
| But Moslem graves, with turban stones, | 25 |
| And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, | |
| And graybeard Mollahs in low tones | |
| Chanting their Koran service through. | |
| |
| The flowers which smiled on either hand, | |
| Like tempting fiends, were such as they | 30 |
| Which once, o’er all that Eastern land, | |
| As gifts on demon altars lay. | |
| |
| As if the burning eye of Baal | |
| The servant of his Conqueror knew, | |
| From skies which knew no cloudy veil, | 35 |
| The Sun’s hot glances smote him through. | |
| |
| “Ah me!” the lonely stranger said, | |
| “The hope which led my footsteps on, | |
| And light from heaven around them shed, | |
| O’er weary wave and waste, is gone! | 40 |
| |
| “Where are the harvest fields all white, | |
| For Truth to thrust her sickle in? | |
| Where flock the souls, like doves in flight, | |
| From the dark hiding-place of sin? | |
| |
| “A silent horror broods o’er all,— | 45 |
| The burden of a hateful spell,— | |
| The very flowers around recall | |
| The hoary magi’s rites of hell! | |
| |
| “And what am I, o’er such a land | |
| The banner of the cross to bear? | 50 |
| Dear Lord, uphold me with thy hand, | |
| Thy strength with human weakness share!” | |
| |
| He ceased; for at his very feet | |
| In mild rebuke a floweret smiled,— | |
| How thrilled his sinking heart to greet | 55 |
| The Star-flower of the Virgin’s child! | |
| |
| Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew | |
| Its life from alien air and earth, | |
| And told to Paynim sun and dew | |
| The story of the Saviour’s birth. | 60 |
| |
| From scorching beams, in kindly mood, | |
| The Persian plants its beauty screened, | |
| And on its pagan sisterhood, | |
| In love, the Christian floweret leaned. | |
| |
| With tears of joy the wanderer felt | 65 |
| The darkness of his long despair | |
| Before that hallowed symbol melt | |
| Which God’s dear love had nurtured there. | |
| |
| From Nature’s face that simple flower | |
| The lines of sin and sadness swept; | 70 |
| And Magian pile and Paynim bower | |
| In peace like that of Eden slept. | |
| |
| Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old, | |
| Looked holy through the sunset air; | |
| And angel-like, the Muezzin told | 75 |
| From tower and mosque the hour of prayer | |
| |
| With cheerful steps, the morrow’s dawn | |
| From Shiraz saw the stranger part; | |
| The Star-flower of the Virgin-Born | |
| Still blooming in his hopeful heart! | 80 |
| |
