  But as they fared slave Obeidullah failed. Devouring fever shook him like a rat, And ere they reached Kashan his course was run. Then freedom came towards him, and he spoke: "Here is an eye of water, mulberry-trees, A rest-house, and to me a stranger thing, Rest. Caravan be strong, fare on with blessings Whence you must forge your happiness—but I, Possessed of peace, shall never see the end. The heart within me has been fire so long That now my body is smoke. I watch it drift Life leaves me gently as a mistress goes Before her time to meet the uncoloured days, Saying: 'I have lived. Plead not. 'Twill be in vain. You were the end of summer. I have passed Out of the garden with fresh scents and dews Upon me, out ere sunset with cool hands, The supple tread of youth and glorying limbs Firm as resolve, unblemished as my pride; Passed ere a leaf be fallen, or losing fights Begin, that smirch the memory of love....' Sweet is the shade, and death's cool lips are welcome After the burning kisses of the sun, The strained embraces of my owner, Toil. I shall remember her with gratitude But no regret, as I lie here. The dawn Biting the desert-edge shall not disturb me, Nor green oases zigzagged through the heat Like stepping-stones. The many-coloured hills, Heaven's mutable emotions, these are past. Beyond them I shall find security Of tenure in the outstretched hands of God." Thereat his fellows made lament, and urged: "Sleep on and take your rest, but not for ever. Time adds to strength, and you shall rise with us Who wait. Already we foresee the coast. A little while...." Slave Obeidullah raised Himself and looked ahead with shining eyes: "The moon is faint. A dust-cloud swirls. Therein I see dim marching hosts: Strange embassies and dancing girls, Spice-caravans and pilgrims. Ghosts Rise thick from this else fruitless plain, A waste that every season chars. Yet teeming centuries lie slain And trodden in the road to Fars. "The still, white, creeping road slips on, Marked by the bones of man and beast. What comeliness and might have gone To pad the highway of the East! Long dynasties of fallen rose, The glories of a thousand wars, A million lovers' hearts compose The dust upon the road to Fars. "No tears have ever served to hold This shifting velvet, fathom-deep, Though vain and ceaseless winds have rolled Its pile wherein the ages sleep. Between your fingers you may sift Kings, poets, priests and charvadars. Heaven knows how many make a drift Of dust upon the road to Fars. "The wraiths subside. And, One with All, Soon, in the brevity of length, Our lives shall hear the voiceless call That builds this earth of love and strength. Eternal, breathless, we shall wait, Till, last of all the Avatars, God finds us in his first estate: The dust upon the road to Fars." So still he lay, so still the pilgrims deemed He was no longer there. The deepening shade Covered him softly. With his latest breath Slave Obeidullah looked upon the Queen: "You whom I loved so steadfastly, If all the blest should ask to see The cause for which my spirit came Among them with so little claim To peace, this book should speak for me. "I strove and only asked in fee Hope of your immortality Not mine—I had no other aim You whom I loved. "The Judge will bend to hear my plea, And take my songs upon his knee. Perhaps His hand will make the lame Worthy to worship you, the same As here they vainly tried to be, You whom I loved." Then, turned towards her, Obeidullah slept. |
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