SONGS OF EAST AND WEST OMAR IN HEAVEN. Year after year I wait, reposing here Among the Faithful, by the Prophet blest; A stranger now to grief, remorse and fear, My one-time restless heart is wreathed in rest. The years glide on, and still they find me free No clouded skies on pages ashen-gray Reflect heart-breaking annals of the earth; The Judas-kisses all have passed away, With all the madness that eclipsed our mirth. Here all the year is April, May or June, With bud and blossom free from every blight; Here all the day is everlasting noon, With glory never dimming in the night. 7 OMAR IN HEAVEN. No thorns beset the beauty of the rose, No leaflet ever withers on the tree, No bulbul song on desert waste is lost; From drought the date and olive flourish free, No tulip ever shudders from the frost. No traveler's camel pants and kneels to die Here bubbling fountains, cold as mountain snow, Songs can not sing the glories here on high, No hunter here pursues the swift gazelle, The lad no longer here pursues the maid; The fawn, grown fearless, knows her master well, The loved one by her lover's side is laid. OMAR IN HEAVEN. Around me, tripping with a dove-like tread, And bring rose-water jars to wash my feet. They bring me sherbets cool with creamy snow, They scent my courts with frankincense and myrrh; With peacock fans they make soft breezes blow, And carol songs that set my heart astir. Ah, they are fairer far than maids of earth, They beg me think no more of loves of mine Ah yes, they all surrender free of force, The bird comes captive though I set no snare; Yet wines they hand me never bring remorse, The love they lavish never brings despair. And here in everlasting youth we stay,- The years flit soft as wings of butterflies. OMAR IN HEAVEN. Yet, Iran, in my dreams I feel again Your dear temptations, your delightful snares, Your bitter-sweets, your pleasures mixed with pain, Your blissful sorrows, your divine despairs. I long for Bagdad's mosques and minarets, For Shiraz, with its fig-trees, vines and palms; For dear old Ispahan my spirit frets,— O sight more soothing than Arabian balms! I weary of these everlasting Springs, These gardens with their never-fading flowers; Who cares for youth where every one is young? Who values springtime life where none grow old? All gold with iron in one heap were flung If every ship came weighted down with gold. Where every man is wealthy, none is rich; No mountain ever stands or ever stood. Though youth on Earth soon shatters like a rose, And love's fresh morning ends at last in night, The song is sweeter for an early close, Love ten times dearer for an early flight. |