| Kusta ben Luka is my name, I write |
| To Abd Al-Rabban; fellow-roysterer once, |
| Now the good Caliphs
learned Treasurer, |
| And for no ear but his. |
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| Carry this letter |
| Through the great gallery of the Treasure
House |
| Where banners of the Caliphs hang, night-coloured |
| But brilliant as the nights embroidery, |
| And
wait wars music; pass the little gallery; |
| Pass books of learning from Byzantium |
| Written in gold upon
a purple stain, |
| And pause at last, I was about to say, |
| At the great book of Sapphos song; but no, |
| For
should you leave my letter there, a boys |
| Love-lorn, indifferent hands might come upon it |
| And let it fall
unnoticed to the floor. |
| Pause at the Treatise of Parmenides |
| And hide it there, for Caliphs to worlds
end |
| Must keep that perfect, as they keep her song, |
| So great its fame. |
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| When fitting time has passed |
| The parchment will disclose to some learned man |
| A mystery that else had found no chronicler |
| But the
wild Bedouin. Though I approve |
| Those wanderers that welcomed in their tents |
| What great Harun Al-
Rashid, occupied |
| With Persian embassy or Grecian war, |
| Must needs neglect, I cannot hide the truth |
| That wandering in a desert, featureless |
| As air under a wing, can give birds wit. |
| In after time they will
speak much of me |
| And speak but fantasy. Recall the year |
| When our beloved Caliph put to death |
| His
Vizir Jaffer for an unknown reason: |
| If but the shirt upon my body knew it |
| Id tear it off and throw it in
the fire. |
| That speech was all that the town knew, but he |
| Seemed for a while to have grown young again; |
| Seemed so on purpose, muttered Jaffers friends, |
| That none might know that he was conscience-struck |
| But thats a traitors thought. Enough for me |
| That in the early summer of the year |
| The mightiest of the
princes of the world |
| Came to the least considered of his courtiers; |
| Sat down upon the fountains marble
edge, |
| One hand amid the goldfish in the pool; |
| And thereupon a colloquy took place |
| That I commend to
all the chroniclers |
| To show how violent great hearts can lose |
| Their bitterness and find the honeycomb. |
| I have brought a slender bride into the house; |
| You know the saying, Change the bride with spring, |
| And she and I, being sunk in happiness, |
| Cannot endure to think you tread these paths, |
| When evening
stirs the jasmine bough, and yet |
| Are brideless. |
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| I am falling into years. |
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| But such as you and I do not
seem old |
| Like men who live by habit. Every day |
| I ride with falcon to the rivers edge |
| Or carry the ringed
mail upon my back, |
| Or court a woman; neither enemy, |
| Game-bird, nor woman does the same thing twice; |
| And so a hunter carries in the eye |
| A mimicry of youth. Can poets thought |
| That springs from body and
in body falls |
| Like this pure jet, now lost amid blue sky, |
| Now bathing lily leaf and fishs scale, |
| Be mimicry? |
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| What matter if our souls |
| Are nearer to the surface of the body |
| Than souls that start no game and turn
no rhyme! |
| The souls own youth and not the bodys youth |
| Shows through our lineaments. My candles
bright, |
| My lantern is too loyal not to show |
| That it was made in your great fathers reign. |
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| And yet the
jasmine season warms our blood. |
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| Great prince, forgive the freedom of my speech: |
| You think that love
has seasons, and you think |
| That if the spring bear off what the spring gave |
| The heart need suffer no
defeat; but I |
| Who have accepted the Byzantine faith, |
| That seems unnatural to Arabian minds, |
| Think when
I choose a bride I choose for ever; |
| And if her eye should not grow bright for mine |
| Or brighten only for
some younger eye, |
| My heart could never turn from daily ruin, |
| Nor find a remedy. |
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| But what if I |
| Have lit
upon a woman who so shares |
| Your thirst for those old crabbed mysteries, |
| So strains to look beyond
our life, an eye |
| That never knew that strain would scarce seem bright, |
| And yet herself can seem youths
very fountain, |
| Being all brimmed with life? |
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| Were it but true |
| I would have found the best that life can
give, |
| Companionship in those mysterious things |
| That make a mans soul or a womans soul |
| Itself and
not some other soul. |
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| That love |
| Must needs be in this life and in what follows |
| Unchanging and at peace,
and it is right |
| Every philosopher should praise that love. |
| But I being none can praise its opposite. |
| It
makes my passion stronger but to think |
| Like passion stirs the peacock and his mate, |
| The wild stag and
the doe; that mouth to mouth |
| Is a mans mockery of the changeless soul. |
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|
| And thereupon his bounty
gave what now |
| Can shake more blossom from autumnal chill |
| Than all my bursting springtime knew.
A girl |
| Perched in some window of her mothers house |
| Had watched my daily passage to and fro; |
| Had
heard impossible history of my past; |
| Imagined some impossible history |
| Lived at my side; thought times
disfiguring touch |
| Gave but more reason for a womans care. |
| Yet was it love of me, or was it love |
| Of
the stark mystery that has dazed my sight, |
| Perplexed her fantasy and planned her care? |
| Or did the
torchlight of that mystery |
| Pick out my features in such light and shade |
| Two contemplating passions
chose one theme |
| Through sheer bewilderment? She had not paced |
| The garden paths, nor counted
up the rooms, |
| Before she had spread a book upon her knees |
| And asked about the pictures or the text; |
| And often those first days I saw her stare |
| On old dry writing in a learned tongue, |
| On old dry faggots
that could never please |
| The extravagance of spring; or move a hand |
| As if that writing or the figured page |