by Homer
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! 100
XXVI
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End!
XXVII
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, 105
And those that after some TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzi´n from the Tower of Darkness cries,
“Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!”
XXVIII
Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,
“The Flower should open with the Morning skies.” 110
And a retreating Whisper, as I wake —
“The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”
XXIX
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn 115
Are scatter’d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
XXX
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door as in I went. 120
XXXI
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d —
“I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”
XXXII
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing 125
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
XXXIII
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence! 130
Ah, contrite Heav’n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence!
XXXIV
Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate;
And many Knots unravel’d by the Road; 135
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
XXXV
There was the Door to which I found no Key:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE
There was — and then no more of THEE and ME. 140
XXXVI
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
Nor Heaven, with those eternal Signs reveal’d
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.
XXXVII
Then of the THEE IN ME who works behind 145
The Veil of Universe I cried to find
A Lamp to guide me through the Darkness; and
Something then said— “An Understanding blind.”
XXXVIII
Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean’d, the secret Well of Life to learn: 150
And Lip to Lip it murmur’d— “While you live,
Drink! — for, once dead, you never shall return.”
XXXIX
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer’d, once did live,
And drink; and that impassive Lip I kiss’d, 155
How many Kisses might it take — and give!
XL
For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur’d— “Gently, Brother, gently, pray!” 160
XLI
For has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man’s successive generations roll’d
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?
XLII
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw 165
On the parcht herbage, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden — far beneath, and long ago.
XLIII
As then the Tulip for her wonted sup
Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up, 170
Do you, twin offspring of the soil, till Heav’n
To Earth invert you like an empty Cup.
XLIV
Do you, within your little hour of Grace,
The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
Before the Mother back into her arms 175
Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.
XLV
And if the Cup you drink, the Lip you press,
End in what All begins and ends in — Yes;
Imagine then you are what heretofore
You were — hereafter you shall not be less. 180
XLVI
So when at last the Angel of the Drink
Of Darkness finds you by the river-brink,
And, proffering his Cup, invites your Soul
Forth to your Lips to quaff it — do not shrink.
XLVII
And fear not lest Existence closing your 185
Account, should lose, or know the type no more;
The Eternal Sa´kì from that Bowl has pour’d
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
XLVIII
When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long long while the World shall last, 190
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.
XLIX
One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste,
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste —
The Stars are setting, and the Caravan 195
Draws to the Dawn of Nothing — Oh make haste.
L
Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About THE SECRET — quick about it, Friend!
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True —
And upon what, prithee, does Life depend? 200
LI
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue —
Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to THE MASTER too;
LII
Whose secret Presence, through Creation’s veins 205
Running, Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Ma´h to Ma´hi; and
They change and perish all-but He remains;
LIII
A moment guess’d — then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll’d 210
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.
LIV
But it in vain, down on the stubborn floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav’n’s unopening Door,
You gaze TO-DAY, while You are YOU — how then 215
TO-MORROW, You when shall be You no more?
LV
Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow’s tangle to itself resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine. 220
LVI
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute;
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
LVII
You know, my Friends, how bravely in my House 225
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
LVIII
For “IS” and “IS-NOT” though with Rule and Line
And “UP-AND-DOWN” by Logic I define, 230
Of all that one should care to fathom, I
Was never deep in anything but — Wine.
LIX
Ah, but my Computations, People say,
Have squared the Year to human compass, eh?
If so, by striking from the Calendar 235
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.
LX
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and ’twas — the Grape! 240
LXI
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
Life’s leaden metal into Gold transmute:
LXII
The mighty Mahmu´d, Allah-breathing Lord, 245
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
LXIII
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? 250
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse — why, then, Who set it there?
LXIV
I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
Scared by some After-reckoning ta’en on trust,
Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, 255
When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust!
LXV
If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
Are in the Prophet’s Paradise to stand,
Alack, I doubt the Prophet’s Paradise
Were empty as the hollow of one’s Hand. 260
LXVI
Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain — This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once is blown for ever dies.
LXVII
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who 265
Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.
LXVIII
The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn’d, 270
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep
They told their fellows, and to Sleep return’d.
LXIX
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Is’t not a Shame — is’t not a Shame for him 275
So long in this Clay Suburb to abide?
LXX
But that is but a Tent wherein may rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sulta´n rises, and the dark Ferra´sh
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest. 280
LXXI
I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And after many days my Soul return’d,
And said, “Behold, Myself am Heav’n and Hell:”
LXXII
Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire, 285
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.
LXXIII
We are no other than a moving row
Of visionary Shapes that come and go 290
Round with this Sun-illumin’d Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;
LXXIV
Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, 295
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
LXXV
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss’d you down into the Field,
He knows about it all — HE knows — HE knows! 300
LXXVI
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
LXXVII
For let Philosopher and Doctor preach 305
Of what they will, and what they will not — each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.
LXXVIII
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die, 310
Lift not your hands to It for help — for It
As impotently rolls as you or I.
LXXIX
With Earth’s first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of the Last Harvest sow’d the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote 315
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
LXXX
YESTERDAY This Day’s Madness did prepare;
TO-MORROW’S Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where. 320
LXXXI
I tell you this — When, started from the Goal,
Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
Of Heav’n Parwi´n and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.
LXXXII
The Vine had struck a fibre: which about 325
If clings my being — let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
LXXXIII
And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, 330
One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
LXXXIV
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain 335
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
LXXXV
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay’d
Sue for a Debt we never did contract,
And cannot answer — Oh the sorry trade! 340
LXXXVI
Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.
LXXXVII
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin 345
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
LXXXVIII
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev’n with Paradise devise the Snake: 350
For all the Sin the Face of wretched Man
Is black with — Man’s Forgiveness give — and take!
LXXXIX
As under cover of departing Day
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramaza´n away,
Once more within the Potter’s house alone 355
I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.
XC
And once again there gather’d a scarce heard
Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr’d
Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue,
&n
bsp; Which mine ear kindled into living Word. 360
XCI
Said one among them— “Surely not in vain
My substance from the common Earth was ta’en
That he who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to shapeless Earth again?”
XCII
Another said— “Why, ne’er a peevish Boy 365
Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that of His own free Fancy made
The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!”
XCIII
None answer’d this; but after silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; 370
“They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?”
XCIV
Thus with the Dead as with the Living, What?
And Why? so ready, but the Wherefor not,
One on a sudden peevishly exclaim’d, 375
“Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?”