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brigdhThe Golden Journey to Samarkand by James Elroy Flecker
At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time.
The Merchants (together): Away, for we are ready to a man!
Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.
The Chief Draper: Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
And printed hangings in enormous bales?
The Chief Grocer: We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.
The Principal Jews: And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
By Ali of Damascus: we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.
The Master of the Caravan: But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.
The Principal Jews: Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.
The Master of the Caravan: But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?
The Pilgrims: We are the Pilgrims, master: we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men are born: but surely we are brave,
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
The Chief Merchant: We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!
One of the Women: O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!
The Merchants (in chorus): We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
An Old Man: Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,
Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!
The Merchants (in chorus): We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
A Pilgrim with a Beautiful Voice: Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly though the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
A Merchant: We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
The Master of the Caravan: Open the gate, O watchman of the night!
The Watchman: Ho, travellers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?
The Merchants (with a shout): We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
(The Caravan passes through the gate)
The Watchman (consoling the women) : What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A Woman: They have their dreams, and do not think of us.
Voices of the Caravan (in the distance, singing): We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
At the Gate of the Sun, Bagdad, in olden time.
The Merchants (together): Away, for we are ready to a man!
Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.
The Chief Draper: Have we not Indian carpets dark as wine,
Turbans and sashes, gowns and bows and veils,
And broideries of intricate design,
And printed hangings in enormous bales?
The Chief Grocer: We have rose-candy, we have spikenard,
Mastic and terebinth and oil and spice,
And such sweet jams meticulously jarred
As God's own Prophet eats in Paradise.
The Principal Jews: And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
By Ali of Damascus: we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.
The Master of the Caravan: But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.
The Principal Jews: Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.
The Master of the Caravan: But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?
The Pilgrims: We are the Pilgrims, master: we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men are born: but surely we are brave,
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
The Chief Merchant: We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master, away!
One of the Women: O turn your eyes to where your children stand.
Is not Bagdad the beautiful? O stay!
The Merchants (in chorus): We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
An Old Man: Have you not girls and garlands in your homes,
Eunuchs and Syrian boys at your command?
Seek not excess: God hateth him who roams!
The Merchants (in chorus): We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
A Pilgrim with a Beautiful Voice: Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly though the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
A Merchant: We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
The Master of the Caravan: Open the gate, O watchman of the night!
The Watchman: Ho, travellers, I open. For what land
Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?
The Merchants (with a shout): We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
(The Caravan passes through the gate)
The Watchman (consoling the women) : What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A Woman: They have their dreams, and do not think of us.
Voices of the Caravan (in the distance, singing): We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 09:05 pm (UTC)For lust of knowing what should not be known.
That I can understand. It turns into words what I feel perfectly.
I love how poetry can do that!
Thanks so much for posting these this month. I'm not really looking forward to the end of April at all.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 04:52 pm (UTC)And thank you! I'm so glad you've liked them.