Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Josephine PrestonPeabody

1668 Caravans

WHAT bring ye me, O camels, across the southern desert,

The wan and parching desert, pale beneath the dusk?

Ye great slow-moving ones, faithful as care is faithful,

Uncouth as dreams may be, sluggish as far-off ships,—

What bring ye me, O camels?

“We bring thee gold like sunshine, saving that it warms not;

And rarest purple bring we, as dark as all the garnered

Bloom of many grape-vines; and spices subtly mingled

For a lasting savor: the precious nard and aloes;

The bitter-sweet of myrrh, like a sorrow having wings;

Ghostly breath of lilies bruised—how white they were!—

And the captive life of many a far rose-garden.

Jewels bring we hither, surely stars once fallen,

Torn again from darkness: the sunlit frost of topaz,

Moon-fire pent in opals, pearls that even the sea loves.

Webs of marvel bring we, broideries that have drunken

Deep of all life-color from a thousand lives,—

Each the royal cere-cloth of a century.

We come! What wouldst thou more?”

All this dust, these ashes, have ye brought so far?

All these days, these years, have I waited in the sun?

I would have had the wingëd Mirage of yonder desert.