Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was that happy garden-state,
While man there walked without a mate: After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there: Two paradises 't were in one, To live in paradise alone.
How well the skilful gardner drew Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new; Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run; And, as it works, th' industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we!
How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers!
RIPPLING through thy branches goes the sunshine, Among thy leaves that palpitate for ever;
Ovid in thee a pining Nymph had prisoned, The soul once of some tremulous inland river, Quivering to tell her woe, but, ah! dumb, dumb for ever!
While all the forest, witched with slumberous moonshine, Holds up its leaves in happy, happy stillness,
Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse suspended,
I hear afar thy whispering, gleamy islands,
And track thee wakeful still amid the wide-hung silence.
On the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet,
Thy foliage, like the tresses of a Dryad,
Dripping round thy slim white stem, whose shadow
Slopes quivering down the water's dusky quiet,
Thou shrink'st as on her bath's edge would some startled Naiad.
Thou art the go-between of rustic lovers;
Thy white bark has their secrets in its keeping; Reuben writes here the happy name of Patience, And thy lithe boughs hang murmuring and weeping Above her, as she steals the mystery from thy keeping.
Thou art to me like my beloved maiden,
So frankly coy, so full of trembly confidences;
Thy shadow scarce seems shade, thy pattering leaflets Sprinkle their gathered sunshine o'er my senses, And Nature gives me all her summer confidences.
Whether my heart with hope or sorrow tremble, Thou sympathisest still; wild and unquiet, I fling me down; thy ripple, like a river, Flows valleyward, where calmness is, and by it My heart is floated down into the land of quiet.
ONE day Shah Mahmúd, riding with the Wind A-hunting, left his Retinue behind,
And coming to a River, whose swift Course Doubled back Game and Dog, and Man and Horse,
Beheld upon the Shore a little Lad
A-fishing, very poor, and Tatter-clad
He was, and weeping as his Heart would break. So the Great Sultan, for good humor's sake Pull'd in his Horse a moment, and drew nigh, And after making his Salám, ask'd why He wept-weeping, the Sultan said, so sore As he had never seen one weep before. The Boy look'd up, and "Oh Amír," he said, "Sev'n of us are at home, and Father dead, And Mother left with scarce a Bit of Bread:
And now since Sunrise have I fish'd- and see! Caught nothing for our Supper-Woe is Me!" The Sultan lighted from his Horse. "Behold,"
Said he, "Good Fortune will not be controll'd: And, since To-day yours seems to turn from you, Suppose we try for once what mine will do, And we will share alike in all I win."
So the Shah took, and flung his Fortune in, The Net; which, cast by the Great Mahmúd's Hand, A hundred glittering Fishes brought to Land. The Lad look'd up in Wonder Mahmúd smiled And vaulted into Saddle. But the Child Ran after"Nay, Amír, but half the Haul Is yours by Bargain"-"Nay, To-day take all," The Sultan cried, and shook his Bridle free- "But mind-To-morrow All belongs to Me—” And so rode off. Next morning at Divan The Sultan's Mind upon his Bargain ran, And being somewhat in a mind for sport Sent for the Lad: who, carried up to Court, And marching into Royalty's full Blaze With such a Catch of Fish as yesterday's, The Sultan call'd and set him by his side, And asking him, "What Luck?" The Boy replied, "This is the Luck that follows every Cast, Since o'er my Net the Sultan's Shadow pass'd.”
When Yúsúf from his Father's House was torn, His Father's Heart was utterly forlorn; And, like a Pipe with but one note, his Tongue With nothing but the name of Yúsúf rung.
Then down from Heaven's Branches came the Bird Of Heaven, and said "God wearies of that Word. Hast thou not else to do, and else to say
So Yacúb's lips were sealèd from that Day. But one Night in a Vision, far away
His darling in some alien Home he saw,
And stretch'd his arms forth; and between the Awe Of God's Displeasure, and the bitter Pass
Of Love and Anguish, sigh'd forth an Alas! And stopp'd-But when he woke the angel came, And said, 'Oh, faint of purpose! Though the Name Of that Belovèd were not utter'd by
Thy Lips it hung sequester'd in that Sigh.'
THE SHAH AND THE STOKER.
One night Shah Mahmúd who had been of late Somewhat distemper'd with Affairs of State Stroll'd through the Streets disguised, as wont to do— And, coming to the Baths, there on the Flue Saw the poor Fellow who the Furnace fed Sitting beside his Water-jug and Bread.
Mahmúd stept in sat down unask'd took up
And tasted of the untasted Loaf and Cup, Saying within himself, "Grudge but a bit, And, by the Lord, your Head shall pay for it!" So having rested, warm'd and satisfied Himself without a Word on either side, At last the wayward Sultan rose to go.
And then at last his Host broke silence. -"So? Art satisfied? Well, Brother, any Day Or Night, remember, when you come this Way And want a bit of Provender why, you
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