He set his face to the stream below, He drew his axe from the saddle bow: "Farewell, Messire, the night is sped; There lies the ford, when all is said."
When I thy lover first Shook out my canvas free And like a pirate burst Into that dreaming sea, The land knew no such thirst As then tormented me.
Now when at eve returned I near that shore divine, Where once but watch-fires burned I see thy beacon shine, And know the land hath learned Desire that welcomes mine.
When late I watched the arrows of the sleet Against the windows of the Tavern beat, I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot: "Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street?
"Before the phantom of False Morning dies, Choked in the bitter Net that binds the skies, Their feet, bemired with Yesterday, set out For the dark alleys where To-morrow lies.
"Think you, when all their petals they have bruised, And all the fragrances of Life confused, That Night with sweeter rest will comfort these Than us, who still within the Garden mused?
"Think you the Gold they fight for all day long Is worth the frugal Peace their clamours wrong? Their Titles, and the Name they toil to build-- Will they outlast the echoes of our Song?"
O Sons of Omar, what shall be the close Seek not to know, for no man living knows: But while within your hands the Wine is set Drink ye--to Omar and the Dreaming Rose!
'Tis a sad fate To watch the world fighting, All that is most fair Ruthlessly blighting, Blighting, ah! blighting.
When such a thought cometh Let us not pine, But gather old friends Round the red wine-- Oh! pour the red wine!
And there we'll talk And warm our wits With Eastern fallacies Out of old Fitz! British old Fitz!
See him, half statesman-- Philosopher too-- Half ancient mariner In baggy blue-- Such baggy blue!
Whimsical, wistful, Haughty, forsooth: Indolent always, yet Ardent in truth, But indolent, indolent!
There at the table With us sits he, Charming us subtly To reverie, Magic reverie.
"How sweet is summer's breath, How sure and swift is death; Nought wise on earth, save What the wine whispereth, Dreamily whispereth.
"At Naíshapúr beneath the sun, Or here in misty Babylon, Drink! for the rose leaves while you linger Are falling, ever falling, one by one."