Collected Works (Vol. II)

40 ORACLES Silent and sleeping-—O the waters wan That seem the soul of man !— Suddenly darkness strikes the horizon round With an abyss profound That blots the half-moon ere the sun be set. A mountain of pure jet Rears its sheer bulk to heaven; and nosnows Tinge evening with rose. No blaze of noon invades those rocks of night, Nor moon’s benignant might. And looking downward he beheld his folk Bound in no tyrant’s yoke ; Knowing no God, nor fearing any man ; Life’s enviable span Free from disease and vice, sorrow and age. Only death’s joys assuage A gathering gladness at the thought of sleep. Never in all the archives, scroll on scroll, Reaching from aeons wrote they ‘‘ Women weep, Men hate, the children suffer.” In the place Where men most walked a tablet of fine brass Was set on marble, with an iron style That all might carve within that golden space If one grief came—and still the people pass, And since the city first began None wrote one word thereon till one—a man Witty in spite of happiness—wrote there : ‘*T grieve because the tablet is so fair And still stands bare, There being none to beautify the same _ With the moon-curved Arabian character.” Whereat the king, ‘‘ Thy grief itself removes In its own cry its cause.” And thence there came Soft laughter that may hardly stir The flowers that shake not in the City of Loves. (For so men called the city’s name Because the people were more mild than doves, More beautiful than Gods of wood or river ; . And so the city should endure for ever.) But the king’s mood was otherwise this day. Along time’s river, fifty years away, There was a young man once Ruddier than autumn suns With gold hair curling like the spring sun’s gold, And blue eyes where stars lurked for happi- ness, And lithe with all a young fawn's loveliness. Such are the dwellers of the fire that fold Fine wings in wanton ecstasy, and sleep Where the thin tongues of glory leap Up from the brazen hold And far majestic keep Of Djinn, the Lord of elemental light. But he beheld some sight Beyond that city’s joy: his gentle word The old king gently heard. (This king was Zohra’s father) ‘‘ Lord and king Of love’s own city, give me leave to wing A fervid flight to yonder hills of night. Not that my soul is weary of the light And lordship of thy presence; but in tender dream I saw myself on the still stream Where the lake goes toward the mountain wall. These little lives and loves ephemeral Seemed in that dream still sweet : yet even now I turned the shallop’s prow With gathering joy toward the lampless mountains. I heard the four bright fountains Gathering joy of music—verily I cannot understand How this can be, Yet—I would travel to that land.” So all they kissed him—and the boy was gone. But when the full moon shone A child cried out that he had seen that face Limned with incomparable grace Even in the shape of splendour as she passed. The king’s thought turned at last To that forgotten story: and desire Filled all his heart with aureate fire Whose texture was a woman’s hair; so fine Bloomed the fair flower of pleasure : Not the wild solar treasure Of gleaming light, but the moon’s shadowy pearl, | The love of a young girl