A Legend of Old Persia and Other Poems Part 2

"For who could blame or who could praise If one should choose to pa.s.s his days In a phantasy of dreams, And, finding thus his own ideal In things dissevered from the real, Be happier than he seems?

"Ah! who could praise or who could blame, Tho' glimmers all my way the same, Like a d.y.k.e-road thro' a fen.

Far on, far on--a ruddy spark-- The toll-light glows adown the dark, And I, like other men,

"Must pay my toll and pa.s.s beyond,-- I made no vow, I signed no bond, Nor lose my self-esteem, But pa.s.s, unknown, unloved, unlost, The man who knew and weighed the cost, The man who dared to dream.

"For what is Fame and what's a Name, Your cries of sorrow, wrath, and shame, Your Hamlets and King Lears, The night must cover them again Did they last a thousand lives of men, A thousand thousand years.

"The world may say that I have missed; Ah! no--I am an egoist Of subtle, fixed design.

My dreams a garden are to me To which no other holds the key, I wish to keep them mine.

"All mine--those tender, half-thought things, Which flutter gossamer rainbow wings And hover near, near, near.

Why should I catch and pin them down And lose their beauty for a crown Would chafe my brows to wear.

"And thus, a baser alchemist In some perverted plan persist To turn my gold to dross.

If I turned my gold their soul were sold Tho' I wore a crown and cloth of gold, Their soul were then the loss.

"If I sat high, a crowned king, With lofty brows in a royal ring, A l.u.s.trous diadem, If I wore the t.i.tles 'High, Strong, and Wise,'

And garments stained with purple dyes, All jewelled at the hem

"With emeralds, rubies and jacinth stones, Such as great kings wear on their golden thrones, And a royal mantle of vair, And held a sceptre in my hand, Which showed me ruler of all the land, In my palace, where none might dare

"To cross my word, but all must bow As the courtly throng are bending now, And give the King his meed, And slaves waved forests of peac.o.c.k fans And a cry went up like a single man's, 'This is the King indeed.'

"For I could be King and Overlord In the wondrous realm of the written word, Am King there ... in my dreams.

So, loving dreams, this life I choose-- The tramp's with tattered coat and shoes, Yet happier than it seems.

"Thus, oh! my dreams, you grow not old, No process dims you, leaves you cold, Immortal, bright, you come, And if you come not, I am wise, I have my trusted old allies, Tobacco, beer, and rum."

His chin sank down upon his breast, And suddenly the brown bird ceased To pour her strain abroad.

A sound less sweet to mortal ear Uprose (had one been there to hear)....

It was the tramp who snored.

The Black Dwarf.

Certain it is that of those qualities We are enamoured which we most do lack.

So he, fantastic out of human guise, Bent, broken, bowed, small, apish, humped of back, Marred in the mint, perfection's contrary, To sweet perfection found his marred life thrall, And--the great artist without jealousy-- Knew beauty more than all.

Much he loved flowers and their frail loveliness, But if they pined thro' blight or thirsty want, Or spiteful wind had made his blossoms less, Or mouse or mole had gnawed some tender plant, Then seemed the edge of life all dull and blunt, And pa.s.sion thwarted tore his twisted frame, And, 'neath the penthouse of the s.h.a.ggy front, The yellow eyes flashed flame.

But most he joyed whenever country maid, Prizing his taste, or damsel highly born To judgment came, and anxiously displayed For him submission as for others scorn.

Then, peering keenly from his peat-roofed home, Calm in his power he scanned her as he chose, And, if she pleased, the swart and twisted gnome Gave her a white, white rose.

To an Elephant.

Lord of the trunk and fan-like ears, Wisest and mightiest next to man, I see thee hence a million years Ruling the earth with milder plan.

Dwellers above, beneath the ground, Shall live contented in that time; No subtle growths shall e'er confound Their natural joy and instinct prime.

Not such as those who planned to nought And groped (wise fools!) beyond their ken Scarce knowing what they loved or sought-- Those subtle growths, those weary men-- Shall dwell earth's inexperienced brood In natural joy and instinct prime; But without evil, without good, Be each new moment, not all time.

Jungles shall grow where cities stood, The mighty rivers roar unbridged The hungry tiger seek his food, Save for thy bidding, privileged, Where (weary subtle growths) we bore Our burden of humanity; For conscious mind shall work no more And man himself have ceased to be.

SONGS.

The Palmer's Song.

I will fling ambition away Like a vain and glittering toy; With tristful weeping will I pray And wash my sin's alloy.

I will wear the palmer's weed And walk in the sandal shoon.

I will walk in the sun by day And sleep beneath the moon.

I will set forth as the bells toll And travel to the East, Because of a sin upon my soul And the chiding of a priest.

The Song of the Old Men.

We are the old, old men, Once fierce and high-hearted in frolics, But now we are three score and ten Or upwards--mere relics Of the fine strong pageant of youth, Which time in his spite and unruth Has taken.

We are dim and palsied and shaken, Ah! me--forsaken.

Where are the fair white maids With flower faces and carriage Straight as new-smithied blades, Ripe, ready for marriage?

Now all are withered and grey, Their beauty has pa.s.sed away, Ah! madness-- They are bent like hoops with sadness And the world's badness.

Our voices are hoa.r.s.e and drear, As we sit and mumble together, We have no good tidings to hear We had sooner have never (So we grumble together) been born, That are so sick and forlorn; Just shadows-- But once bright fishers of shallows, Swift hunters of meadows.

We are the old, old men, We have seen and endured much trouble; It has turned us children again, And bent us double.

Now we sit like a circle of stones, And hear in each others' moans Ill token.

For our sweetest thoughts were broken Or else unspoken.

The Song of Snorro.