XX
Yet if all things that vanish in their noon
Are but the part of some eternal scheme,
Of what the nightingale may chance to
dream
Or what the lotus murmurs to the moon!
XXI
Have I not heard sagacious ones repeat
An irresistibly grim argument:
That we for all our blustering content
Are as the silent shadows at our feet.
XXII
Aye, when the torch is low and we prepare
Beyond the notes of revelry to pass—
Old Silence will keep watch upon the grass,
The solemn shadows will assemble there.
XXIII
No Sultan at his pleasure shall erect
A dwelling less obedient to decay
Than I, whom all the mysteries obey,
Build with the twilight for an architect.
XXIV
Dark leans to dark! the passions of a man
Are twined about all transitory things,
For verily the child of wisdom clings
More unto dreamland than Arabistan.
XXV
Death leans to death! nor shall your vigilance
Prevent him from whate’er he would
possess,
Nor, brother, shall unfilial peevishness
Prevent you from the grand inheritance.
XXVI
Farewell, my soul!—bird in the narrow jail
Who cannot sing. The door is opened!
Fly!
Ah, soon you stop, and looking down you
cry
The saddest song of all, poor nightingale.
XXVII
Our fortune is like mariners to float
Amid the perils of dim waterways;
Shall then our seamanship have aught of
praise
If the great anchor drags behind the boat?
XXVIII
Ah! let the burial of yesterday,
Of yesterday be ruthlessly decreed,
And, if you will, refuse the mourner’s
reed,
And, if you will, plant cypress in the way.
XXIX
As little shall it serve you in the fight
If you remonstrate with the storming seas,
As if you querulously sigh to these
Of some imagined haven of delight.
XXX
Steed of my soul! when you and I were young
We lived to cleave as arrows thro’
the night,—
Now there is ta’en from me the last
of light,
And wheresoe’er I gaze a veil is hung.
XXXI
No longer as a wreck shall I be hurled
Where beacons lure the fascinated helm,
For I have been admitted to the realm
Of darkness that encompasses the world.