I
A BOOK of Verses underneath the Bough, | |
| A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou | |
| Beside me singing in the Wilderness— | |
| O, Wilderness were Paradise enow! | |
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| Some for the Glories of This World; and some | 5 |
| Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; | |
| Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, | |
| Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! | |
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| Look to the blowing Rose about us—'Lo, | |
| Laughing,' she says, 'into the world I blow, | 10 |
| At once the silken tassel of my Purse | |
| Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.' | |
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| 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 | 15 |
| As, buried once, Men want dug up again. | |
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II
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai | |
| Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, | |
| How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp | |
| Abode his destined Hour, and went his way. | 20 |
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| They say the Lion and the Lizard keep | |
| The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep: | |
| And Bahrám, that great Hunter—the wild Ass | |
| Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep. | |
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| I sometimes think that never blows so red | 25 |
| The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; | |
| That every Hyacinth the Garden wears | |
| Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head. | |
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| And this reviving Herb whose tender Green | |
| Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean— | 30 |
| Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows | |
| From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! | |
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| Ah, my Belovèd, fill the Cup that clears | |
| TO-DAY of past Regrets and Future Fears: | |
| To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be | 35 |
| Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years. | |
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| For some we loved, the loveliest and the best | |
| That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, | |
| Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, | |
| And one by one crept silently to rest. | 40 |
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| 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 Couch—for whom? | |
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| Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, | 45 |
| Before we too into the Dust descend; | |
| Dust unto Dust, and under Dust to lie, | |
| Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End! | |
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III
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, | |
| And wash my Body whence the Life has died, | 50 |
| And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf, | |
| By some not unfrequented Garden-side.... | |
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| Yon rising Moon that looks for us again— | |
| How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; | |
| How oft hereafter rising look or us | 55 |
| Through this same Garden—and for one in vain! | |
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| And when like her O Sákí, you 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! | 60 |
