CAMELOT FANTASIES

DEPARTURE

Up, O ye lovers, and away! 'Tis time to leave the world for aye.
 Hark, loud and clear from heaven the from of parting calls-let none delay!
 The cameleer hat risen amain, made ready all the camel-train,
 And quittance now desires to gain: why sleep ye, travellers, I pray?
 Behind us and before there swells the din of parting and of bells;
 To shoreless space each moment sails a disembodied spirit away.
 From yonder starry lights, and through those curtain-awnings darkly blue,
 Mysterious figures float in view, all strange and secret things display.
 From this orb, wheeling round its pole, a wondrous slumber o'er thee stole:
 O weary life that weighest naught, O sleep that on my soul dost weigh!
 O heart, toward they heart's love wend, and O friend, fly toward the Friend,
 Be wakeful, watchman, to the end: drowse seemingly no watchman may.





REMEMBERED MUSIC


'Tis said, the pipe and lute that charm our ears
 Derive their melody from rolling spheres;
 But Faith, o'erpassing speculation's bound,
 Can see what sweetens every jangled sound.

We, who are parts of Adam, heard with him
 The song of angels and of seraphim.
 Out memory, though dull and sad, retains
 Some echo still of those unearthly strains.

Oh, music is the meat of all who love,
 Music uplifts the soul to realms above.
 The ashes glow, the latent fires increase:
 We listen and are fed with joy and peace.





THE SPIRIT OF THE SAINTS


There is a Water that flows down from Heaven
 To cleanse the world of sin by grace Divine.
 At last, its whole stock spent, its virtue gone.
 Dark with pollution not its own, it speeds
 Back to the Fountain of all purities;
 Whence, freshly bathed, earthward it sweeps again,
 Trailing a robe of glory bright and pure.

This Water is the Spirit of the Saints,
 Which ever sheds, until itself is beggared,
 God's balm on the sick soul; and then returns
 To Him who made the purest light of Heaven.





THE TRUE SUFI

What makes the Sufi? Purity of heart;
 Not the patched mantle and the lust perverse
 Of those vile earth-bound men who steal his name.
 He in all dregs discerns the essence pure:
 In hardship ease, in tribulation joy.
 The phantom sentries, who with batons drawn
 Guard Beauty's place-gate and curtained bower,
 Give way before him, unafraid he passes,
 And showing the King's arrow, enters in.