 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
THE LAMENT OF EL MOULOK
Within the sacred precincts of the mosque,
Even on the very steps of St. Sophia,
He lifted up his voice and spoke these words,
El Moulok, who sang naught but love-songs once
And now was crazed because his son was dead:
Even on the very steps of St. Sophia,
He lifted up his voice and spoke these words,
El Moulok, who sang naught but love-songs once
And now was crazed because his son was dead:
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O ye who leave
Your slippers at the portal, as is meet,
Give heed an instant ere ye bow in prayer.
Your slippers at the portal, as is meet,
Give heed an instant ere ye bow in prayer.
Ages ago,
Allah, grown weary of His myriad worlds,
Would one star more to hang against the blue.
Allah, grown weary of His myriad worlds,
Would one star more to hang against the blue.
Then of men's bones,
Millions on millions, did He build the earth;
Millions on millions, did He build the earth;
Of women's tears,
Down falling through the night, He made the sea;
Down falling through the night, He made the sea;
Of sighs and sobs
He made the winds that surge about the globe.
He made the winds that surge about the globe.
Where'er ye tread,
Ye tread on dust that once was living man.
Ye tread on dust that once was living man.
The mist and rain
Are tears that first from human eyelids fell.
Are tears that first from human eyelids fell.
The unseen winds
Breathe endless lamentation for the dead.
Breathe endless lamentation for the dead.
Not so the ancient tablets told the tale,
Not so the Koran! This was blasphemy,
And they that heard El Moulok dragged him thence,
Even from the very steps of St. Sophia,
And loaded him with triple chains of steel,
And cast him in a dungeon.
Not so the Koran! This was blasphemy,
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Even from the very steps of St. Sophia,
And loaded him with triple chains of steel,
And cast him in a dungeon.
None the less
Do women's tears fall ceaseless day and night,
And none the less do mortals faint and die
And turn to dust; and every wind that blows
About the globe seems heavy with the grief
Of those who sorrow, or have sorrowed, here.
Yet none the less is Allah the Most High,
The Clement, the Compassionate. He sees
Where we are blind, and hallowed be His Name!
Do women's tears fall ceaseless day and night,
And none the less do mortals faint and die
And turn to dust; and every wind that blows
About the globe seems heavy with the grief
Of those who sorrow, or have sorrowed, here.
Yet none the less is Allah the Most High,
The Clement, the Compassionate. He sees
Where we are blind, and hallowed be His Name!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |