V.The Encyclopaedia "If I could set the moon upon This table," said my friend, "Among the standard poets And brochures without end, And noble prints of old Japan, How empty they would seem, By that encyclopaedia Of whim and glittering dream."VI.What the Miner in the Desert Said The moon's a brass-hooped water-keg, A wondrous water-feast.
If I could climb the ridge and drink And give drink to my beast;If I could drain that keg, the flies Would not be biting so, My burning feet be spry again, My mule no longer slow.
And I could rise and dig for ore, And reach my fatherland, And not be food for ants and hawks And perish in the sand.
VII.What the Coal-heaver Said The moon's an open furnace door Where all can see the blast, We shovel in our blackest griefs, Upon that grate are cast Our aching burdens, loves and fears And underneath them wait Paper and tar and pitch and pine Called strife and blood and hate.
Out of it all there comes a flame, A splendid widening light.
Sorrow is turned to mystery And Death into delight.
VIII.What the Moon Saw Two statesmen met by moonlight.
Their ease was partly feigned.
They glanced about the prairie.
Their faces were constrained.
In various ways aforetime They had misled the state, Yet did it so politely Their henchmen thought them great.
They sat beneath a hedge and spake No word, but had a smoke.
A satchel passed from hand to hand.
Next day, the deadlock broke.
IX.What Semiramis Said The moon's a steaming chalice Of honey and venom-wine.
A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine.
But oh, my reckless lovers, They drain the cup and wail, Die at my feet with shaking limbs And tender lips all pale.
Above them in the sky it bends Empty and gray and dread.
To-morrow night 'tis full again, Golden, and foaming red.
X.What the Ghost of the Gambler Said Where now the huts are empty, Where never a camp-fire glows, In an abandoned canyon, A Gambler's Ghost arose.
He muttered there, "The moon's a sack Of dust." His voice rose thin:
"I wish I knew the miner-man.
I'd play, and play to win.
In every game in Cripple-creek Of old, when stakes were high, I held my own.Now I would play For that sack in the sky.
The sport would not be ended there.
'Twould rather be begun.
I'd bet my moon against his stars, And gamble for the sun."XI.The Spice-tree This is the song The spice-tree sings:
"Hunger and fire, Hunger and fire, Sky-born Beauty --Spice of desire,"
Under the spice-tree Watch and wait, Burning maidens And lads that mate.
The spice-tree spreads And its boughs come down Shadowing village and farm and town.
And none can see But the pure of heart The great green leaves And the boughs descending, And hear the song that is never ending.
The deep roots whisper, The branches say: --"Love to-morrow, And love to-day, And till Heaven's day, And till Heaven's day."The moon is a bird's nest in its branches, The moon is hung in its topmost spaces.
And there, to-night, two doves play house While lovers watch with uplifted faces.
Two doves go home To their nest, the moon.
It is woven of twigs of broken light, With threads of scarlet and threads of gray And a lining of down for silk delight.
To their Eden, the moon, fly home our doves, Up through the boughs of the great spice-tree; --And one is the kiss I took from you, And one is the kiss you gave to me.
XII.The Scissors-grinder(What the Tramp Said)The old man had his box and wheel For grinding knives and shears.
No doubt his bell in village streets Was joy to children's ears.
And I bethought me of my youth When such men came around, And times I asked them in, quite sure The scissors should be ground.
The old man turned and spoke to me, His face at last in view.
And then I thought those curious eyes Were eyes that once I knew.
"The moon is but an emery-wheel To whet the sword of God,"He said."And here beside my fire I stretch upon the sod Each night, and dream, and watch the stars And watch the ghost-clouds go.
And see that sword of God in Heaven A-waving to and fro.
I see that sword each century, friend.
It means the world-war comes With all its bloody, wicked chiefs And hate-inflaming drums.
Men talk of peace, but I have seen That emery-wheel turn round.
The voice of Abel cries again To God from out the ground.
The ditches must flow red, the plague Go stark and screaming by Each time that sword of God takes edge Within the midnight sky.
And those that scorned their brothers here And sowed a wind of shame Will reap the whirlwind as of old And face relentless flame."And thus the scissors-grinder spoke, His face at last in view.
*And there beside the railroad bridge I saw the wandering Jew*.
XIII.My Lady in her White Silk Shawl My lady in her white silk shawl Is like a lily dim, Within the twilight of the room Enthroned and kind and prim.
My lady! Pale gold is her hair.
Until she smiles her face Is pale with far Hellenic moods, With thoughts that find no placeIn our harsh village of the West Wherein she lives of late, She's distant as far-hidden stars, And cold -- (almost!) -- as fate.
But when she smiles she's here again Rosy with comrade-cheer, A Puritan Bacchante made To laugh around the year.
The merry gentle moon herself, Heart-stirring too, like her, Wakening wild and innocent love In every worshipper.
XIV.Aladdin and the Jinn "Bring me soft song," said Aladdin.
"This tailor-shop sings not at all.
Chant me a word of the twilight, Of roses that mourn in the fall.
Bring me a song like hashish That will comfort the stale and the sad, For I would be mending my spirit, Forgetting these days that are bad, Forgetting companions too shallow, Their quarrels and arguments thin, Forgetting the shouting Muezzin:" --"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.
"Bring me old wines," said Aladdin.
"I have been a starved pauper too long.
