CAMELOT FANTASIES

XXXIII.

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
 Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
    Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
 And--"A blind understanding!" Heav'n replied.

XXXIV.

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn
 My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:
    And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live,
 Drink!--for once dead you never shall return."

XXXV.

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
 Articulation answer'd, once did live,
    And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd
 How many Kisses might it take--and give.

XXXVI.

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
 I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
    And with its all obliterated Tongue
 It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

XXXVII.

Ah, fill the Cup:--what boots it to repeat
 How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
    Unborn TO-MORROW and dead YESTERDAY,
 Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!

XXXVIII.

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
 One moment, of the Well of Life to taste--
    The Stars are setting, and the Caravan
 Starts for the dawn of Nothing--Oh, make haste!

XXXIX.

How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
 Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
    Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
 Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

XL.

You know, my Friends, how long since in my House
 For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:
    Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
 And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

XLI.

For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,
 And, "UP-AND-DOWN" without, I could define,
    I yet in all I only cared to know,
 Was never deep in anything but--Wine.

XLII.

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
 Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape,
    Bearing a vessel on his Shoulder; and
 He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!

XLIII.

The Grape that can with Logic absolute
 The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
    The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice
 Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

XLIV.

The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,
 That all the misbelieving and black Horde
    Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
 Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.

XLV.

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
 The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
    And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,
 Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

XLVI.

For in and out, above, about, below,
 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
    Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
 Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

XLVII.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
 End in the Nothing all Things end in--Yes-
    Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
 Thou shalt be--Nothing--Thou shalt not be less.

XLVIII.

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
 With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:
    And when the Angel with his darker Draught
 Draws up to thee--take that, and do not shrink.

XLVIX.

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
 Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
    Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
 And one by one back in the Closet lays.

L.

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
 But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
    And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
 He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!

LI.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
 Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
    Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
 Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

LII.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
 Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
    Lift not thy hands to IT for help--for It
 Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

LIII.

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead,
 And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
    Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
 What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LIV.

I tell Thee this--When, starting from the Goal,
 Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
    Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
 In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul

LV.

The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
 It clings my Being--let the Sufi flout;
    Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,
 That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

LVI.

And this I know: whether the one True Light,
 Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
    One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
 Better than in the Temple lost outright.

LVII.

Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
 Beset the Road I was to wander in,
    Thou wilt not with Predestination round
 Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

LVIII.

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
 And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
    For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
 Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give--and take!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

KUZA--NAMA. ("Book of Pots")

LIX.

Listen again. One Evening at the Close
 Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
    In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
 With the clay Population round in Rows.

LX.

And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
 Some could articulate, while others not:
    And suddenly one more impatient cried--
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

LXI.

Then said another--"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 common Earth again."

LXII.

Another said--"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
 Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
    Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love
 And Fansy, in an after Rage destroy!"

LXIII.

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
 A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
    "They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
 What? did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

LXIV.

Said one--"Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
 And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
    They talk of some strict Testing of us--Pish!
 He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

LXV.

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
 "My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
    But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"

LXVI.

So, while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
 One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:
    And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

LXVII.

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
 And wash my Body whence the life has died,
    And in a Windingsheet of Vineleaf wrapt,
 So bury me by some sweet Gardenside.

LXVIII.

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
 Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
    As not a True Believer passing by
 But shall be overtaken unaware.

LXIX.

Indeed, the Idols I have loved so long
 Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
    Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
 And sold my Reputation for a Song.

LXX.

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
 I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
    And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
 My thread-bare Penitence a-pieces tore.

LXXI.

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
 And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--well,
    I often wonder what the Vintners buy
 One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

LXXII.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
 That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
    The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
 Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

LXXIII.

Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
 To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
    Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
 Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!