The Golden Journey to Samarkand
PROLOGUE
I
W E who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
— And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We Poets of a proud old lineage
— Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, —
What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
— Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest,
Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales,
— And winds and shadows fall toward the West:
And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings
— In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep,
And closer round their breasts the ivy clings,
— Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep.
II
And how beguile you? Death has no repose
— Warmer and deeper than that Orient sand
Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those
— Who made the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
And now they wait and whiten peaceably,
— Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair:
They know time comes, not only you and I,
— But the whole world shall whiten, here or there;
When those long caravans that cross the plain
— With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells
Put forth no more for glory or for gain,
— Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells.
When the great markets by the sea shut fast
— All that calm Sunday that goes on and on:
When even lovers find their peace at last
— And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.
EPILOGUE
— At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time.
THE MERCHANTS ( together )
A WAY , for we are ready to a man!
— Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
— Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.
THE CHIEF DRAPER
Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
— Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
— And printed hangings in enormous bales?
THE CHIEF GROCER
We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
— Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
— As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.
THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
— By Ali of Damascus; we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
— And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.
THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
— You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?
THE PILGRIMS
We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
— Always a little further: it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,
— Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
— There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
— Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
THE CHIEF MERCHANT
We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!
ONE OF THE WOMEN
— O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!
THE MERCHANTS ( in chorus )
— We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
AN OLD MAN
Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,
— Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!
THE MERCHANTS ( in chorus )
— We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
A PILGRIM WITH A BEAUTIFUL VOICE
Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
— When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly through the silence beat the bells
— Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
A MERCHANT
We travel not for trafficking alone:
— By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
— We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
Open the gate, O watchman of the night!
THE WATCHMAN
— Ho, travellers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?
THE MERCHANTS ( with a shout )
— We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
[ The Caravan passes through the gate ]
THE WATCHMAN ( consoling the women )
What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
— Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A WOMAN
— They have their dreams, and do not think of us.
VOICES OF THE CARAVAN ( in the distance, singing )
— — We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
I
W E who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
— And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We Poets of a proud old lineage
— Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, —
What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
— Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest,
Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales,
— And winds and shadows fall toward the West:
And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings
— In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep,
And closer round their breasts the ivy clings,
— Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep.
II
And how beguile you? Death has no repose
— Warmer and deeper than that Orient sand
Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those
— Who made the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
And now they wait and whiten peaceably,
— Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair:
They know time comes, not only you and I,
— But the whole world shall whiten, here or there;
When those long caravans that cross the plain
— With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells
Put forth no more for glory or for gain,
— Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells.
When the great markets by the sea shut fast
— All that calm Sunday that goes on and on:
When even lovers find their peace at last
— And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.
EPILOGUE
— At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time.
THE MERCHANTS ( together )
A WAY , for we are ready to a man!
— Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
— Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.
THE CHIEF DRAPER
Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
— Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
— And printed hangings in enormous bales?
THE CHIEF GROCER
We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
— Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
— As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.
THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
— By Ali of Damascus; we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
— And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.
THE PRINCIPAL JEWS
Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
— You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?
THE PILGRIMS
We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
— Always a little further: it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,
— Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
— There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
— Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
THE CHIEF MERCHANT
We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!
ONE OF THE WOMEN
— O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!
THE MERCHANTS ( in chorus )
— We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
AN OLD MAN
Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,
— Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!
THE MERCHANTS ( in chorus )
— We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
A PILGRIM WITH A BEAUTIFUL VOICE
Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
— When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly through the silence beat the bells
— Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
A MERCHANT
We travel not for trafficking alone:
— By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
— We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
THE MASTER OF THE CARAVAN
Open the gate, O watchman of the night!
THE WATCHMAN
— Ho, travellers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?
THE MERCHANTS ( with a shout )
— We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
[ The Caravan passes through the gate ]
THE WATCHMAN ( consoling the women )
What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
— Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A WOMAN
— They have their dreams, and do not think of us.
VOICES OF THE CARAVAN ( in the distance, singing )
— — We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
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