But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly! ΙΟ From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day.' They are weeping in the playtime of the If you listen by that grave, in sun and "For, all day, the wheels are droning, And we hear not (for the wheels in their turning; Their wind comes in our faces, Till our hearts turn our heads, with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places: 80 Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling, Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling: All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And all day the iron wheels are droning: 85 And sometimes we could pray, 'O ye wheels,' (breaking out in a mad moaning) 'Stop! be silent for to-day!'" should hear us, 105 resounding) We say softly for a charm. We know no other words, except 'Our Father,' And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 120 'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would surely (For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 'Come and rest with me, my child.' "But no!" say the children, weeping faster, 125 While the rushing of the iron wheels And well may the children weep before They know the grief of man, without its wisdom; They sink in man's despair, without its calm; And slaves, without the liberty in Christdom, Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm: Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly. 145 The harvest of its memories cannot reap, Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. Let them weep! let them weep! They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their look is dread to see, 150 For they mind you of their angels in high places, (Laughed while he sat by the river), "The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the With eyes turned on Deity. reed, Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into The Stars before him from the Field of Drives Night along with them from The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light. "When all the Temple is prepared Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you within, Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?" say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday? And this first Summer month that brings the Rose 35 Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobád away. X Well, let it take them! What have we to do With Kaikobád the Great, or Kaikhosrû? Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will, Or Hátim call to Supper-heed not you. 40 XI With me along the strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultân is forgot And Peace to Mahmûd on his golden Throne! XII A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 45 A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-and Thou Beside me singing in the WildernessOh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! XIII Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; 50 Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! XIV Look to the blowing Rose about us-"Lo, Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow, At once the silken tassel of my Purse 55 Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw." XV And those who husbanded the Golden And those who flung it to the winds like Alike to no such aureate Earth are To-morrow!-Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand XXII For some we loved, the loveliest and the best 85 As, buried once, Men want dug up again.60 That from his Vintage rolling Time hath |