Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/118
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Blooms forever, and ever the shrill-voiced singers
Chant that Allah is Allah, and man is as rain and dust.
Yield to me therefore, Pomegranate Flower! Thy lips
Are heavy with love, thine eyes are riddles, thine hair
Hath woven the night about thy face, its moon!
And eunuch and slave and the throbbing tambourines
And the dancing girls and thy master, O Star, are dreams,
And only the Gardener's Son with the close-cropped golden hair,
And thou, Beloved, we two together and love,
Only these three abide, but abide for a moment, and go.
Chant that Allah is Allah, and man is as rain and dust.
Yield to me therefore, Pomegranate Flower! Thy lips
Are heavy with love, thine eyes are riddles, thine hair
Hath woven the night about thy face, its moon!
And eunuch and slave and the throbbing tambourines
And the dancing girls and thy master, O Star, are dreams,
And only the Gardener's Son with the close-cropped golden hair,
And thou, Beloved, we two together and love,
Only these three abide, but abide for a moment, and go.
Scheherazade!
Scheherazade!
Scheherazade!
The FreemanHoward Mumford Jones
OH, WHEN I DIE—
The poet names his burial-stead.
That string is frayed by long-stilled hands.
And few, I guess, have the bed
Their half-forgotten verse demands.
To worn string and futile plea
Listen awhile: when I am dead
After all, bury me
Underneath an Apple Tree.
That string is frayed by long-stilled hands.
And few, I guess, have the bed
Their half-forgotten verse demands.
To worn string and futile plea
Listen awhile: when I am dead
After all, bury me
Underneath an Apple Tree.
Underneath an Apple Tree—
Let the grim roots work their will—
Grip, suck, strain, distil.
The debtor's body for the debt,
For all the happily heavy score
Of many a revel, against me set
Plain on the Orchard Tavern's door.
Let the grim roots work their will—
Grip, suck, strain, distil.
The debtor's body for the debt,
For all the happily heavy score
Of many a revel, against me set
Plain on the Orchard Tavern's door.
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