| |
I
WAKE! For the Sun behind yon Eastern height | |
| Has chased the Session of the Stars from Night; | |
| And to the field of Heav’n ascending, strikes | |
| The Sulta´n’s Turret with a Shaft of Light. | |
| |
II
Before the phantom of False morning died, | 5 |
| Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, | |
| “When all the Temple is prepared within, | |
| Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?” | |
| |
III
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before | |
| The Tavern shouted—“Open then the Door! | 10 |
| You know how little while we have to stay, | |
| And, once departed, may return no more.” | |
| |
IV
Now the New Year reviving old Desires, | |
| The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, | |
| Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough | 15 |
| Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires. | |
| |
V
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, | |
| And Jamshy´d’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows; | |
| But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine, | |
| And many a Garden by the Water blows. | 20 |
| |
VI
And David’s lips are lockt; but in divine | |
| High-piping Pe´hlevi, with “Wine! Wine! Wine! | |
| Red Wine!”—the Nightingale cries to the Rose | |
| That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine. | |
| |
VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring | 25 |
| Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: | |
| The Bird of Time has but a little way | |
| To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing. | |
| |
VIII
Whether at Naisha´pu´r or Babylon, | |
| Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, | 30 |
| The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, | |
| The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one. | |
| |
IX
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say; | |
| Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday? | |
| And this first Summer month that brings the Rose | 35 |
| Shall take Jamshy´d and Kaikoba´d away. | |
| |
X
Well, let it take them! What have we to do | |
| With Kaikoba´d the Great, or Kaikhosru´? | |
| Let Rustum cry “To Battle!” as he likes, | |
| Or Ha´tim Tai “To supper!”—heed not you. | 40 |
| |
XI
With me along the strip of Herbage strown | |
| That just divides the desert from the sown, | |
| Where name of Slave and Sulta´n is forgot— | |
| And Peace to Ma´hmu´d on his golden Throne! | |
| |
XII
Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough, | 45 |
| A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou | |
| Beside me singing in the Wilderness— | |
| Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! | |
| |
XIII
Some for the Glories of This World; and some | |
| Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come; | 50 |
| Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go, | |
| Nor heed the music of a distant Drum! | |
| |
XIV
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin | |
| The Thread of present Life away to win— | |
| What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall | 55 |
| Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in! | |
| |
XV
Look to the blowing Rose about us—“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.” | 60 |
| |
XVI
For 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. | |
| |
XVII
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon | 65 |
| Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon, | |
| Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, | |
| Lighting a little hour or two—was gone. | |
| |
XVIII
Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai | |
| Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, | 70 |
| How Sulta´n after Sulta´n with his Pomp | |
| Abode his destined Hour, and went his way. | |
| |
XIX
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep | |
| The Courts where Jamshy´d gloried and drank deep: | |
| And Bahra´m, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass | 75 |
| Stamps o’er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep. | |
| |
XX
The Palace that to Heav’n his pillars threw, | |
| And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew— | |
| I saw the solitary Ringdove there, | |
| And “Coo, coo, coo,” she cried; and “Coo, coo, coo.” | 80 |
| |
XXI
Ah, my Belove´d, fill the Cup that clears | |
| TO-DAY of past Regret and Future Fears: | |
| To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be | |
| Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand Years. | |
| |
XXII
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best | 85 |
| That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest, | |
| Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, | |
| And one by one crept silently to rest. | |
| |
XXIII
And we, that now make merry in the Room | |
| They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, | 90 |
| Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth | |
| Descend—ourselves to make a Couch—for whom? | |
| |
XXIV
I sometimes think that never blows so red | |
| The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; | |
| That every Hyacinth the Garden wears | 95 |
| Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head. | |
| |
XXV
And this delightful Herb whose living Green | |
| Fledges the River’s Lip on which we lean— | |
| Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows | |
| From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! | 100 |
| |
XXVI
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, and—sans End! | |
| |
XXVII
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, | 105 |
| And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, | |
| A Muezzi´n from the Tower of Darkness cries, | |
| “Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!” | |
| |
XXVIII
Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries, | |
| “The Flower should open with the Morning skies.” | 110 |
| And a retreating Whisper, as I wake— | |
| “The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.” | |
| |
XXIX
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 | 115 |
| Are scatter’d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust. | |
| |
XXX
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. | 120 |
| |
XXXI
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, | |
| And with my own hand wrought to make it grow; | |
| And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d— | |
| “I came like Water, and like Wind I go.” | |
| |
XXXII
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing | 125 |
| Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing; | |
| And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, | |
| I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing. | |
| |
XXXIII
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence? | |
| And, without asking, Whither hurried hence! | 130 |
| Ah, contrite Heav’n endowed us with the Vine | |
| To drug the memory of that insolence! | |
| |
XXXIV
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; | 135 |
| But not the Master-knot of Human Fate. | |
| |
XXXV
There was the Door to which I found no Key: | |
| There was the Veil through which I could not see: | |
| Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE | |
| There was—and then no more of THEE and ME. | 140 |
| |
XXXVI
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn | |
| In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; | |
| Nor Heaven, with those eternal Signs reveal’d | |
| And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn. | |
| |
XXXVII
Then of the THEE IN ME who works behind | 145 |
| The Veil of Universe I cried to find | |
| A Lamp to guide me through the Darkness; and | |
| Something then said—“An Understanding blind.” | |
| |
XXXVIII
Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn | |
| I lean’d, the secret Well of Life to learn: | 150 |
| And Lip to Lip it murmur’d—“While you live, | |
| Drink!—for, once dead, you never shall return.” | |
| |
XXXIX
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive | |
| Articulation answer’d, once did live, | |
| And drink; and that impassive Lip I kiss’d, | 155 |
| How many Kisses might it take—and give! | |
| |
XL
For I remember stopping by the way | |
| To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay: | |
| And with its all-obliterated Tongue | |
| It murmur’d—“Gently, Brother, gently, pray!” | 160 |
| |
XLI
For has not such a Story from of Old | |
| Down Man’s successive generations roll’d | |
| Of such a clod of saturated Earth | |
| Cast by the Maker into Human mould? | |
| |
XLII
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw | 165 |
| On the parcht herbage, but may steal below | |
| To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye | |
| There hidden—far beneath, and long ago. | |
| |
XLIII
As then the Tulip for her wonted sup | |
| Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up, | 170 |
| Do you, twin offspring of the soil, till Heav’n | |
| To Earth invert you like an empty Cup. | |
| |
XLIV
Do you, within your little hour of Grace, | |
| The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace, | |
| Before the Mother back into her arms | 175 |
| Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace. | |
| |
XLV
And if the Cup you drink, the Lip you press, | |
| End in what All begins and ends in—Yes; | |
| Imagine then you are what heretofore | |
| You were—hereafter you shall not be less. | 180 |
| |
XLVI
So when at last the Angel of the Drink | |
| Of Darkness finds you by the river-brink, | |
| And, proffering his Cup, invites your Soul | |
| Forth to your Lips to quaff it—do not shrink. | |
| |
XLVII
And fear not lest Existence closing your | 185 |
| Account, should lose, or know the type no more; | |
| The Eternal Sa´kì from that Bowl has pour’d | |
| Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour. | |
| |
XLVIII
When You and I behind the Veil are past, | |
| Oh, but the long long while the World shall last, | 190 |
| Which of our Coming and Departure heeds | |
| As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast. | |
| |
XLIX
One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste, | |
| One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste— | |
| The Stars are setting, and the Caravan | 195 |
| Draws to the Dawn of Nothing—Oh make haste. | |
| |
L
Would you that spangle of Existence spend | |
| About THE SECRET—quick about it, Friend! | |
| A Hair, they say, divides the False and True— | |
| And upon what, prithee, does Life depend? | 200 |
| |
LI
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True; | |
| Yes; and a single Alif were the clue— | |
| Could you but find it—to the Treasure-house, | |
| And peradventure to THE MASTER too; | |
| |
LII
Whose secret Presence, through Creation’s veins | 205 |
| Running, Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; | |
| Taking all shapes from Ma´h to Ma´hi; and | |
| They change and perish all-but He remains; | |
| |
LIII
A moment guess’d—then back behind the Fold | |
| Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll’d | 210 |
| Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, | |
| He does Himself contrive, enact, behold. | |
| |
LIV
But it in vain, down on the stubborn floor | |
| Of Earth, and up to Heav’n’s unopening Door, | |
| You gaze TO-DAY, while You are YOU—how then | 215 |
| TO-MORROW, You when shall be You no more? | |
| |
LV
Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine, | |
| To-morrow’s tangle to itself resign, | |
| And lose your fingers in the tresses of | |
| The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine. | 220 |
| |
LVI
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit | |
| Of This and That endeavour and dispute; | |
| Better be merry with the fruitful Grape | |
| Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit. | |
| |
LVII
You know, my Friends, how bravely in my House | 225 |
| For a new Marriage I did make Carouse; | |
| Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, | |
| And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse. | |
| |
LVIII
For “IS” and “IS-NOT” though with Rule and Line | |
| And “UP-AND-DOWN” by Logic I define, | 230 |
| Of all that one should care to fathom, I | |
| Was never deep in anything but—Wine. | |
| |
LIX
Ah, but my Computations, People say, | |
| Have squared the Year to human compass, eh? | |
| If so, by striking from the Calendar | 235 |
| Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday. | |
| |
LX
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, | |
| Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape | |
| Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and | |
| He bid me taste of it; and ’twas—the Grape! | 240 |
| |
LXI
The Grape that can with Logic absolute | |
| The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: | |
| The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice | |
| Life’s leaden metal into Gold transmute: | |
| |
LXII
The mighty Mahmu´d, Allah-breathing Lord, | 245 |
| That all the misbelieving and black Horde | |
| Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul | |
| Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword. | |
| |
LXIII
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare | |
| Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? | 250 |
| A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? | |
| And if a Curse—why, then, Who set it there? | |
| |
LXIV
I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, | |
| Scared by some After-reckoning ta’en on trust, | |
| Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, | 255 |
| When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust! | |
| |
LXV
If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band | |
| Are in the Prophet’s Paradise to stand, | |
| Alack, I doubt the Prophet’s Paradise | |
| Were empty as the hollow of one’s Hand. | 260 |
| |
LXVI
Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! | |
| One thing at least is certain—This Life flies; | |
| One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; | |
| The Flower that once is blown for ever dies. | |
| |
LXVII
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who | 265 |
| Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through, | |
| Not one returns to tell us of the Road, | |
| Which to discover we must travel too. | |
| |
LXVIII
The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d | |
| Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn’d, | 270 |
| Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep | |
| They told their fellows, and to Sleep return’d. | |
| |
LXIX
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, | |
| And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, | |
| Is’t not a Shame—is’t not a Shame for him | 275 |
| So long in this Clay Suburb to abide? | |
| |
LXX
But that is but a Tent wherein may rest | |
| A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; | |
| The Sulta´n rises, and the dark Ferra´sh | |
| Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest. | 280 |
| |
LXXI
I sent my Soul through the Invisible, | |
| Some letter of that After-life to spell: | |
| And after many days my Soul return’d, | |
| And said, “Behold, Myself am Heav’n and Hell:” | |
| |
LXXII
Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire, | 285 |
| And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire, | |
| Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, | |
| So late emerged from, shall so soon expire. | |
| |
LXXIII
We are no other than a moving row | |
| Of visionary Shapes that come and go | 290 |
| Round with this Sun-illumin’d Lantern held | |
| In Midnight by the Master of the Show; | |
| |
LXXIV
Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays | |
| Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; | |
| Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, | 295 |
| And one by one back in the Closet lays. | |
| |
LXXV
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, | |
| But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes; | |
| And He that toss’d you down into the Field, | |
| He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows! | 300 |
| |
LXXVI
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, | |
| Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit | |
| Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, | |
| Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. | |
| |
LXXVII
For let Philosopher and Doctor preach | 305 |
| Of what they will, and what they will not—each | |
| Is but one Link in an eternal Chain | |
| That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach. | |
| |
LXXVIII
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, | |
| Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die, | 310 |
| Lift not your hands to It for help—for It | |
| As impotently rolls as you or I. | |
| |
LXXIX
With Earth’s first Clay They did the Last Man knead, | |
| And there of the Last Harvest sow’d the Seed: | |
| And the first Morning of Creation wrote | 315 |
| What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read. | |
| |
LXXX
YESTERDAY This Day’s Madness did prepare; | |
| TO-MORROW’S Silence, Triumph, or Despair: | |
| Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: | |
| Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where. | 320 |
| |
LXXXI
I tell you this—When, started from the Goal, | |
| Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal | |
| Of Heav’n Parwi´n and Mushtari they flung, | |
| In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul. | |
| |
LXXXII
The Vine had struck a fibre: which about | 325 |
| If clings my being—let the Dervish flout; | |
| Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, | |
| That shall unlock the Door he howls without. | |
| |
LXXXIII
And this I know: whether the one True Light | |
| Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, | 330 |
| One Flash of It within the Tavern caught | |
| Better than in the Temple lost outright. | |
| |
LXXXIV
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke | |
| A conscious Something to resent the yoke | |
| Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain | 335 |
| Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke! | |
| |
LXXXV
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid | |
| Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay’d | |
| Sue for a Debt we never did contract, | |
| And cannot answer—Oh the sorry trade! | 340 |
| |
LXXXVI
Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face, | |
| I swear I will not call Injustice Grace; | |
| Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but | |
| Would kick so poor a Coward from the place. | |
| |
LXXXVII
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin | 345 |
| Beset the Road I was to wander in, | |
| Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round | |
| Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin! | |
| |
LXXXVIII
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, | |
| And ev’n with Paradise devise the Snake: | 350 |
| For all the Sin the Face of wretched Man | |
| Is black with—Man’s Forgiveness give—and take! | |
| |
LXXXIX
As under cover of departing Day | |
| Slunk hunger-stricken Ramaza´n away, | |
| Once more within the Potter’s house alone | 355 |
| I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay. | |
| |
XC
And once again there gather’d a scarce heard | |
| Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr’d | |
| Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue, | |
| Which mine ear kindled into living Word. | 360 |
| |
XCI
Said one among them—“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 shapeless Earth again?” | |
| |
XCII
Another said—“Why, ne’er a peevish Boy | 365 |
| Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy; | |
| Shall He that of His own free Fancy made | |
| The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!” | |
| |
XCIII
None answer’d this; but after silence spake | |
| Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; | 370 |
| “They sneer at me for leaning all awry: | |
| What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?” | |
| |
XCIV
Thus with the Dead as with the Living, What? | |
| And Why? so ready, but the Wherefor not, | |
| One on a sudden peevishly exclaim’d, | 375 |
| “Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?” | |
| |
XCV
Said one—“Folks of a surly Master tell, | |
| And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell; | |
| They talk of some sharp Trial of us—Pish! | |
| He’s a Good Fellow, and ’twill all be well.” | 380 |
| |
XCVI
“Well,” said another, “Whoso will, let try, | |
| My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: | |
| But fill me with the old familiar Juice, | |
| Methinks I might recover by and by.” | |
| |
XCVII
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking, | 385 |
| One spied the little Crescent all were seeking: | |
| And then they jogg’d each other, “Brother! Brother! | |
| Now for the Porter’s shoulder-knot a-creaking!” | |
| |
XCVIII
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, | |
| And wash my Body whence the Life has died, | 390 |
| And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf, | |
| By some not unfrequented Garden-side. | |
| |
XCIX
Whither resorting from the vernal Heat | |
| Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet, | |
| Under the Branch that leans above the Wall | 395 |
| To shed his Blossom over head and feet. | |
| |
C
Then ev’n my buried Ashes such a snare | |
| Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air | |
| As not a True-believer passing by | |
| But shall be overtaken unaware. | 400 |
| |
CI
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long | |
| Have done my credit in Men’s eyes much wrong: | |
| Have drown’d my Glory in a shallow Cup | |
| And sold my Reputation for a Song. | |
| |
CII
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before | 405 |
| I swore—but was I sober when I swore? | |
| And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand | |
| My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. | |
| |
CIII
And much as Wine has play’d the Infidel, | |
| And robb’d me of my Robe of Honour—Well, | 410 |
| I often wonder what the Vintners buy | |
| One half so precious as the ware they sell. | |
| |
CIV
Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! | |
| That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close! | |
| The Nightingale that in the branches sang, | 415 |
| Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows! | |
| |
CV
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield | |
| One glimpse—if dimly, yet indeed, reveal’d, | |
| Toward which the fainting Traveller might spring, | |
| As springs the trampled herbage of the field! | 420 |
| |
CVI
Oh if the World were but to re-create, | |
| That we might catch ere closed the Book of Fate, | |
| And make The Writer on a fairer leaf | |
| Inscribe our names, or quite obliterate! | |
| |
CVII
Better, oh better, cancel from the Scroll | 425 |
| Of Universe one luckless Human Soul, | |
| Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls | |
| Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages roll. | |
| |
CVIII
Ah Love! could you and I with Fate conspire | |
| To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, | 430 |
| Would not we shatter it to bits—and then | |
| Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire! | |
| |
CIX
But see! The rising Moon of Heav’n again | |
| Looks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane: | |
| How oft hereafter rising will she look | 435 |
| Among those leaves—for one of us in vain! | |
| |
CX
And when Yourself with silver Foot shall pass | |
| Among the Guests Star-scatter’d on the Grass, | |
| And in your joyous errand reach the spot | |
| Where I made One—turn down an empty Glass! | 440 |
| |
