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B 3 315 IMS












19 14






COPYRIGHT, 1SS4, 1S92, 1904, 1905, 1907, 1909, 1910, 19II, 1913, AND I914,



J'uilished .Vo-'jember ic,i4



As I Came Down from Lebanon . . . . . 3

Khamsin 5

The Shekh Abdallah 7

The Dancing of Suleima 9

Chant of Prester John 13

The Caravan 15

The Ride 17

Dawn in the Desert 20

The Sphinx 21

In Palestine 22

Hassan and Hassoun 24

Memnon 26

The Prayer 27

Egypt 28

The Minstrel 29

Night in the Desert 31


If Only the Dreams Abide 35

Halcyon Weather 37

In the Library 39

Wanderer's Song 41

On a Bust of Antinous 43

[ V ]



Taillefer the Trouvere 45

Let Us Take Leave of Haste 49

Sidney Godolphin 50

Bag-pipes at Sea 52

A Bell 54

How Perishes the Pomp 55

On a Bust of Lincoln 56

Music 57

I Walk Darkly 58

Sea Marvels 60

The Count of Mirandel 61

The Sleeper 66

The Brimmed Cup 68

The Gray Inn 69

Night 71

The Dreamer 72

My Hopes 74

A Traveler 75

Cowslip-Gold 76

The Harvest 77

Flight 78

Poppies 79

The Jessamine Bower 80

The Old Year to the New 82

Daffodil Gold . . ; 84

Just at the Moonrise 85

Wind of the Moor 86

The King of Dreams 87

I vi ]


Joy and Sorrow .88

Song of the ISIorning Stars 89

A Sunset Breeze 90

The Sower 91

The Voice 92

The Climbing Road 94

The Dance of the Hours 95

Stormy Petrels 96

Little Things 97

Endeavor 98

In a Snow Storm ........ 99

When I Go Home 100

A Supplication 101

The Voyage of Verrazano 102

Brooklyn Bridge 106

The Dwelling 107

Yule at Thengelfor 108

Water-Sprites HI

Marathon 112

Cricket 113

The Closed Room 114

Fiesole 115

Loneliness 117

Dirge for a Sailor 118

Maggiore 119

The Mist and the Sea 120

The Pillow 122

I Lean Sunward 124

[ vii ]


The Thrall 125

The Seekers 127

My Hesperides 129

Song of the Ships 130

A Bit of Marble 133

Wild Coreopsis 134

Sleep, the Almoner 135

The Bookstall 136

The Troopers 138

On a Copy of Keats' "Endymion" .... 140

The Watchers 143

The Wind in the Boughs 145

A Broken Lute 146

Who Goes By 147

The Great Voice 148

The Actor 149

Perpetuity 150

Marble 151

Fancy and Imagination 152

Time 153

Rainbow Gold 154

Speech 155


The Bowers of Paradise 159

Be Ye in Love with April-Tide 160

Love's Vagrant 161

Elusion 162

[ viii ]


A Southern Twilight 163

A Sailor's Song 164

Ivy Lane 166

Even-Song 168

Sylvia in the Springtime 170

There is No Starry Power 171

Never Say the World Grows Old .... 172

Serenade 173

A Sea Song 174

Nocturne in the South 175

Song 176

I spolce a traveler on the road
Who smiled beneath his leaden load;
^^Hotv play you such a blithesome part?^*
"Comrade, I bear a singing heart!''

I questioned one whose path with pain
In the grim shadows long had lain,
"How face you thus life's thorny smart?"
"Comrade, I bear a singing heart!'*

I hailed one whom adversity
Could not make bend the hardy knee,
"How such brave seeming? Tell the art!"
"Comrade, I bear a singing heart!"

Friend, blest be thou if thou canst say
Upon the inevitable way
Whereon we fare, sans guide or chart, —
"Comrade, I bear a singing heart!"



As I came down from Lebanon,

Came winding, wandering slowly down

Through mountain passes bleak and brown,

The cloudless day was well-nigh done.

The city, like an opal, set

In emerald, showed each minaret

Afire with radiant beams of sun,

And glistened orange, fig and lime

Where song-birds made melodious chime.

As I came down from Lebanon.

As I came down from Lebanon,
Like lava in the dying glow.
Through olive orchards far below
I saw the murmuring river run;
And 'neath the wall upon the sand
Swart shekhs from distant Samarcand,
With precious spices they had won.
Lay long and languidly in wait
Till they might pass the guarded gate.
As I came down from Lebanon.

As I came down from Lebanon,
I saw strange men from lands afar
In mosque and square and gay bazaar. —
[ 3 ]


The Magi that the Moslem shun,
And grave Effendi from Stamboul
Who sherbet sipped in corners cool;
And, from the balconies o'errun
With roses, gleamed the eyes of those
Who dwell in still seraglios.
As I came down from Lebanon.

As I came down from Lebanon,
The flaming flower of daytime died,
And Night, arrayed as is a bride
Of some great king in garments spun
Of purple and the finest gold,
Out-bloomed in glories manifold!
Until the moon above the dun
And darkening desert, void of shade.
Shone like a keen Damascus blade.
As I came down from Lebanon!


Oh, the wind from the desert blew in! —

The wind from the desert, blew in !
It blew from the heart of the fiery south.
From the fervid sand and the hills of drouth.
And it kissed the land with its scorching mouth;
The wind from the desert blew in!

It blasted the buds on the almond bough.
And shriveled the fruit on the orange tree;
The wizened dervish breathed no vow
So weary and parched was he.
The lean muezzin could not cry;
The dogs ran mad, and bayed the sky;
The hot sun shone like a copper disk,
And prone in the shade of an obelisk
The water-carrier sank with a sigh,
For limp and dry was his water-skin;
And the wind from the desert blew in.

The camel crouched by the crumbling wall.
And, oh, the pitiful moan it made!
The minarets, taper and slim and tall,
Reeled and swam in the brazen light;
f 5 1


And prayers went up by day and night,

But thin and drawn were the hps that prayed.

The river writhed in its slimy bed,

Shrunk to a tortuous, turbid thread;

The burnt earth cracked like a cloven rind;

And still the wind, the ruthless wind,

The wind from the desert, blew in!

Into the cool of the mosque it crept.

Where the poor sought rest at the Prophet's shrine;

Its breath was fire to the jasmine vine;

It fevered the brow of the maid who slept.

And men grew haggard with revel of wine.

The tiny fledgelings died in the nest;
The sick babe gasped at the mother's breast.
Then a rumor rose and swelled and spread
From a tremulous whisper faint and vague.
Till it burst in a terrible cry of dread,

The plague 1 the plague I the plague 1 —
Oh, the wind. Khamsin,
The scourge from the desert, blew in!


What does the Shekh Abdullah do
In the long, dull time of the Ramadan ?
Why, he rises and says his prayers, and then
He sleeps till the prayer-hour comes again;
And thus through the length of the weary day
Does he sleep and pray, and sleep and pray.
Whenever the swart muezzin calls
From the crescent-guarded minaret walls,
Up he leaps and bows his turbaned b'rows
Toward Mecca, this valiant and holy man,
The Shekh Abdallah — praise be to Allah! — ■
In the long, dull time of the Ramadan.

What does the Shekh Abdallah do
In the long, dull time of the Ramadan ?
Why, he fasts and fasts without reprieve
From the blush of morn till the blush of eve.
Never so much as a sip takes he
Of the fragrant juice of the Yemen berry;
He shakes no fruit from the citron tree.
Nor plucks the pomegranate, nor tastes the cherry.
His sandal beads seem to tell of deeds
That were wrought by the hand of the holy man,
The Shekh Abdallah — praise be to Allah ! —
In the long, dull time of the Ramadan.
\ 7 1


What does the Shekh Ahdallah do

In the long, dull time of the Ramadan ?

Why, he calls his servants, and just as soon

As in the copses the night-birds croon,

A roasted kid is brought steaming in.

And then does the glorious feast begin;

Smyrna iSgs and nectarines fine.

Golden flasks of Lebanon wine.

Sherbet of rose and pistachios.

All are spread for the holy man.

The Shekh Ahdallah — 'praise he to Allah! —

In the long, dull time of the Ramadan.

What does the Shekh Ahdallah do
In the long, didl time of the Ramadan ?
Why, when the cloying feast is o'er.
Dancers foot it along the floor;
Night-long to the sound of lute and viol
There is wine-mad mirth and the lilt of song,
And loving looks that brood no denial
From a radiant, rapturous throng.
'Morn calls to prayers, now away with cares!'*
He cries (this faithfid and holy man !)
The Shekh Ahdallah — praise he to Allah! —
In the long, dull time of the Ramadan.


When Suleima, the bayadere,
Danced for Selim, the Grand Vizier,
The fountain spurtled, with mellow fret.
Out of its mouth of jade and jet;
And lanterns, hued like the rainbow's arc.
In the citron branches, dotted the dark;
And over the courtyard's burnished tiles
Cast their shimmer, and made her seem,
With all the glamourie of her smiles.
Like a houri out of paradise.
Luring with Lilith lips and eyes, —
The creature of a dream!

When Suleima, the bayadere.

Danced for Selim the Grand Vizier,

Pleadingly the viols played

In the dusk of the feathery bamboo shade;

And the zithers wove their tinkling spells

In tune with her golden anklet bells;

While a tensely chorded dulcimer.

And a reed with the tenderest touch of tone,

Into the melody throbbed to blur

The whole to a wondrous rhapsody

That lapped and eddied about her, — she.

Harmony's very own!

f 9 1


When Suleima, the bayadere.
Danced for Selim, the Grand Vizier,
Out of the midnight of her hair
Star-shine darted adown the air
From orbed diamonds; her virgin arms
Showed no cincture of jeweled charms,
But a girdle glistened around her waist,
Where rubies glowed with their pulse of fire;
As light and white as the foam and chaste.
Were the folds that floated about her form.
Palpitant, gracile, willowy, warm, —
A vision of desire!

When Suleima, the bayadere.

Danced for Selim, the Grand Vizier,

Such was the lightness of her tread.

Such was the pose of her shapely head.

Such was the motion of every limb, —

Flexuous wrist and ankle slim, —

Subtly swaying from head to heel,

That the hearts of those who watched her there,

Marked her poise and glide and wheel

In measures intricate as a maze.

Were ever after, for all their days.

Thrall to a sweet despair!

When Suleima, the bayadere.
Danced for Selim, the Grand Vizier, —
[ 10 ]


For him who had crept so nigh to the throne
That in dreams he saw it his veiy own, —
The wave of a riotous unrest
Surged, of a sudden, within his breast.
More to him than the monarch's crown
To quaff from her hps of passion's wine,
His face in her billowy hair to drown!
And he swore a great oath under his breath.
While his hands were clenched like one in death,
'By Allah, she shall be mine!"

When Suleima, the bayadere.
Danced for Selim, the Grand Vizier,
In the lure of her smile was fate.
In her bosom was hidden hate, —
Hate^ and the canker of ceaseless pain
For her soul's beloved, foully slain.
So, with brighter blandishment, her eyes
Burned on those of the Grand Vizier,
And she opened her arms in witching wise,
While a sensuous something in her tread,
'AH is thine, if thou askest," said, —
Suleima, the bayadere!

When Suleima, the bayadere.
Danced for Selim, the Grand Vizier,
And the last low strain of the music died.
And the raptured courtiers turned aside

[ 11 ]


Through the heavy scent of the citron bloom.
And the fading lanterns wrought a gloom,
Making a shadowy bower of the place
That was meet for love and love's delight.
Back from an instant's mad embrace
The Vizier reeled to moan and die;
While a laugh, and a woman's triumph cry, —
Revenge /" — thrilled down the night.


Far in the golden heart of the dawn
This was the Chant of Prester John.

In a land of lily and asphodel,

In a city of forty towers I dwell;

Never a cursed crescent there,

But a thousand crosses hung in air

That through each circling season knows

The scent of the paradisal rose!

My palace poises upon a height

Burning with beryl and chrysolite;

Therein the throne of my power is set.

Fashioned of jasper and of jet.

In a court where flows the Fountain of Youth,

Whose dazzling dome is the Mirror of Truth.

Around my throne upon every hand
Do kings and princes and bishops stand, —
Croziered bishops and sceptred kings.
Enrobed in ermine with garnishings
Of pale moon-silver and crusted gold.
At the opal gateway manifold
Knights and squires in their armor are.
Each with a cross like a blazing star
[ 13 ]


In his massy helmet sunken deep;
And never the watchful warders sleep,
liifting ever a warrior's song, —
* Death to the Wrong! Death to the Wrong!*'

And when in the ranks of war I ride.
No bright banner in purple pride
Over the host flaunts boastfully;
But mighty, marvellous crosses three.
With a million facets raying light.
Beacon the army on to the fight.
And when the burst of our conflict-cry
Sweeps and surges up to the sky,
Palsy of fear foreboding woe
Shakes the heart of the paynim foe;
And still shall our battle-burden be, —
'Christ for the right and Victory! "

Far in the mists of the ages gone
This was the Chant oj Pr ester John!


From underneath the carob shade,
A wavering Hne of gray and white,

I watch it lose its form and fade

Like dreams across the face of night.

Whither it goes I can but guess;

Haply where ruined Tadmor stands.
The voiceless haunt of loneliness,

Amid the desert's swirling sands;

Or toward the Tigris' tawny tide
Into that land of ancient thrift

Where Bagdad's rich bazaars spread wide.
And Haroun's minarets uplift;

Or toward the swart Arabian skies.
The home of sempiternal calms,

Where pilgrims seek their paradise
Through Mecca, girdled with its palms.

Yet howsoe'er it fares, I fare;

In buoyant spirit I am one
With those that drink the untrammeled air.

The nomad children of the sun.
[ 15 ]


Sandaled with silence, on I press,
Rousing before the flower of morn.

Through spaces where forgetfulness

Seems to have dwelt since Time was born.

And when, with soothing touch, comes night
After the round of jars and joys.

Above the head, in Allah's sight.

The hosts of heaven wheel and poise.

Throughout the strangely tranquil days
I join in prayer and fast and feast.

Looking on life with long, slow gaze
As does the fatalistic East.

And then — and then — the goal ! — Ah, me!

At last, wherever range th man.
How well we know that there must be

One bourn for every caravan !


We rose in the clear, cool dawning, and greeted the

eastern star;
"To saddle!" — our shout rang sharply out by the

huts of Kerf Hawar.
The dervish slept by the wayside, the dog still dozed

by the door,
The yashmaked maid, with her water-jar, bent low by

the swift stream's shore.
The poplar leaves, as we mounted, turned white in

the veering wind.
And the icy peak of Hermon shone pyramidal behind.

We had looked on the towers of Hebron, and seen the

sunlight wane
Over Zion's massive citadel, and Omar's holy fane;
We had passed with pilgrim footsteps over Judah's

rocks and rills.
And seen the anemone-torches flare on the Galilean

But our eager hearts cried, "Onward! — beyond are

the fairest skies;
Where rippling Barada silvers down the bower of the

Prophet lies!"

[ 17 ]


So we plunged through the tranquil twilight ere the

sun rolled grandly up,
And brimmed the sky with its amber as Lebanon wine

a cup.
We dashed down the bare brown wadies, where echo

called from the crag;
There was never a hoof to linger, and never a foot to

We raced where the land lay level, and we spurred it,

black and bay.
Till the crimson bud of the morning flowered full into

dazzling day.

The dim, dark speck in the distance grew green and

broad and large.
And lo, a minaret's slender spear on the line of its

widening marge!
Then, oh, what a cheer we lifted, and, oh, how we

forward flew.
And, oh, the balm of the greeting breeze that out from

the gardens blew!
And now we rode in the shadow of boughs that were

While the gurgle of crystal waters rilled up through the

swooning heat.

Pink were the rich pomegranates, a rosy cloud to the

[ 18 1


And the fluttering bloom of the orange was white in

the zenith light;
And sudden, or ever we dreamed it, did the orchards

give apart,
And there was the bowered city with the flood of its

orient heart;
There was the endless pageant that surged through the

arching gate;
There was the slim Bride's Minaret, and the ancient

"street called Straight."

For us there were growing marvels, and a wonder-
wealth untold

In the opulent glow of the daytime, in night with its
moon of gold;

For sherbet and song and roses, with a love-smile
flashed between,

Recur, like the beat of a measure, in the life of a
Damascene. —

We will rise again in visions, by the gleam of the morn-
ing star.

And ride to the pearl of cities from the huts of Kerf


When the first opal presage of the morn
Quickened the east, the good Merwan arose,
And by his open tent door knelt and prayed.

Now in that pilgrim caravan was one

Whose heart was heavy with dumb doubts, whose eyes

Drew little balm from slumber. Up and down

Night-long he paced the avenues of sand

'Twixt tent and tent, and heard the jackals snarl.

The camels moan for water. This one came

On Merwan praying, and to him outcried —

(The tortured spirit bursting its sealed fount

As doth the brook on Damavend in spring)

"How knowest thou that any Allah is?'*

Swift from the sand did Merwan lift his face,

Flung toward the east an arm of knotted bronze.

And said, as upward shot a shaft of gold,

*'Dost need a torch to show to thee the dawn .^"

Then prayed again.

When on the desert's rim
In sudden awful splendor stood the sun.
Through all that caravan there was no knee
But bowed to Allah.

f 20 1



CoucHANT upon the illimitable sand,

Like some huge Libyan lion, human-faced.
The solemn march of centuries thou hast traced

With brooding eyes that seem to understand

The secrets of the ages, — whose the hand
That rolls the stars along the ethereal waste.
And for what purpose suffering man is placed

Upon this orb, to be or blessed or banned.

In elder years did suppliants bend the knee
Before thine awful presence reverently.

Beseeching answer with adoring breath;
Yet wert thou mute, as thou wilt ever be,
Enigma, like our mortal destiny.

Inscrutable as is the face of death !



Lone is the land of a thousand wars, the home of a

solemn peace,
Where the past still shows her myriad scars as the

marching years increase;
No more are the princes proud of yore than the ashes

blown from a pyre.
And the jackal has his haunt in the tomb of Hiram,

king of Tyre.

A turbaned guard keeps stolid ward by the Zion gate

in the sun,
And the paynim bows his shaven brows at the shrine of

On the chosen altars long, long quenched is the flame

of the sacred fire.
And the jackal has his haunt in the tomb of Hiram,

king of Tyre.

Great Herod's pride, with its columned aisles, is

grown with the olive bough.
And Gath and Dan are but crumbling piles, while Gaza

is gateless now;
The sea on the sands of Ascalon sets hands to a

mournful lyre.
And the jackal has his haunt in the tomb of Hiram,

king of Tyre.

[ 22 1


But the starry fame of one holy name still burns

through the mists of death;
It has set the crown of Time's renown on the brow of

It has blazoned Bethlehem for aye the heart of the

world's desire,
While the jackal has his haunt in the tomb of Hiram,

king of Tyre.


Said Hassan to Hassoun:
" 'T were a boon

If this love that enfolds us as fire,
This dream of delight and desire.

That is torture at midnight and noon.
Should lapse, should forever be laid
In sepulture, a shadowless shade.

Like a lifeless and lusterless moon,**

Said Hassan to Hassoun.

Said Hassoun to Hassan:
"You would ban
All our days and our ways with a gloom
Like the outermost regions of Doom!

We should dwell in one long Ramadan,
A fast with no feasting for aye.
And beauty and bloom plucked away.

And only a desert to scan,**

Said Hassoun to Hassan.

Said Hassan to Hassoun:
"'T is a tune
That tricks us, this love, that allures,
Till a frenzy engrips us no cures
[ 24 ]


May allay, for all bird-voices croon,

And the winds and the waves alike frame
One lyrically maddening name,

A very device of Mahoun,*'

Said Hassan to Hassoun.

Said Hassoun to Hassan:
"'T is a plan
That Allah has shaped to uplift
From the silt and the shard and the drift

The spirit we christen as *man';
Through it do our eyes first behold
What the word of the Prophet foretold, —

Paradise, — for 't was there love began,*'

Said Hassoun to Hassan.

Thus Hassan and Hassoun ! —

Like a rune

You may hear them run on and run on.
Blithe Youth and Old Age that is wan,

Disputing from midnight till noon.
While each speaks, so solemn, his part,
What is love but the same in the heart.

Outlasting, an infinite span,

Both Hassoun and Hassan !


Why dost thou hail with songful lips no more
The glorious sunrise? — Why is Memnon mute
Whose voice was tuned as is the silvery flute

When Thebes sat queenly by the Nile's low shore?

The chained slaves sweat no longer at the oar,
No longer shrines are raised to man and brute,
Yet dawn by dawn the sun thou didst salute

Gives thee the greeting that it gave of yore.

What nameless spell is on thee? Dost thou wait
(Hoping and yearning through the years forlorn)

The old-time splendor and the regal state,
The glory and the power of empire shorn?

Oh, break the silence deep, defying fate.
And cry again melodious to the morn!



The slender leaves of the acacia trees

Hung parched and quivering in the desert breeze.

Straight westward, as a starving rook might fly,
One pyramid's dark apex cut the sky;

, While sharp against the sapphire east were set
Resplendent dome and soaring minaret.

Beside the way, upon his prayer-mat prone,
A turbaned suppliant made his plaint alone.

The hot sun smote upon his humbled head;
^' Allah, have pityT' — this was all he said.

His faltering tongue forgot the accustomed art.
And laid his unvoiced grief on Allah's heart.

[ 27 ]


The sun, a scarabseus of bronze gold,

Slowly ascends the heaven's eastern wall;

The immemorial palm-trees, towering tall.
Where Nile rolls seaward, fold on tawny fold,
Are mirrored in the water; and behold.

Above them, hued like skies at evenfall.

Flamingoes in their flight majestical
Wing as they winged ere yet the world waxed old!

Silence and Death and Time and all things hoar
Brood here, — and man, how like a shade he seems.
Now seen, now gone, ephemera of an hour !
Pharaoh and Ptolemy, mighty names of yore.
To-day are but as sounds dim-heard in dreams,
And but as shards the remnants of their power!


He played on the single string

Of a strange lute warped and old,
And sang and sang till the gray walls rang

To the ditty weird he trolled.
Sweet was the languid air,

The sun was hot and high,
And ruby-red the pomegranates spread

Their bloom to the Syrian sky.

A turban green he wore.

And a flowing robe of white;
With a rhythmic grace he moved, and his face

Was black as the Nubian night.
Why had he strayed from the clime

Where the scorching siroc blows.
To sing in the bowers of the citron flowers

And the red Damascus rose?

I can but think he was one

Of that dusky, mythic band
Who weave dark spells in the fountained dells

Of the swart Arabian land;
A genie, slave of a ring,

A reamer of earth and air,
[ 29 1


At the will of some young Aladdin come
To lure with a fatal snare.

His vision haunts me still.

Haunts in the height of noon.
And again up-floats in wild low notes

His mystic Arabic croon;

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