  They passed a field of purple badinjan. A peasant raised his head to hear the tune, And, seeking some excuse for holiday, He followed humming ballads, this the first: "It happened say a century ago, Somewhere between Mazanderan and Fars, A Frank was in the picture—that I know— Mud-walls and roses, cypresses and stars, White dust and shadows black. "It happened She was loved by more than One, Though no one now recalls the name and rank Of even One, whose heart was like the stone That framed the water of the garden tank Long gone to utter wrack. "It happened that one night She had a mind To roam her garden. Youth was hidden there, It happened One was watching from behind A Judas-tree, though neither of the pair Heard the twigs sigh and crack. "It happened that next night She wandered out Once more, and Youth was hiding there again. And One sprang forth upon them with a shout, And fanatics and seyids in his train Streamed in a wolfish pack. "It happened that the sun found something red Among the Judas-blossoms where Youth lay Upon his face; a crow was on his head, And desert dogs began to sniff and bay At something in his back. "It happened that none ever knew Her fate— Except that She was never heard of more— Save One, and two that through a secret gate— Perhaps they knew—a struggling burden bore. I think it was a sack." Some one applauded; then the humming drone Was stung to louder efforts, and went on: "They staggered down the stiff black avenue, Hiding the sack's convulsions from the moon, To drown its cries they feigned the shrill iouiou Of owls, then dropped it in the swift KarÛn, Paused, and admired the view. "The ripples took her, trying not to leap, But, copying the uneventful sky, Serenely burnished where the stream grows deep They smoothened their staccato lullaby. And so she fell asleep "Where no sharp rock disturbs the river bed, A moving peace, whose eddies turn half-fain Towards their youth's tumultuous watershed, And slow blank scutcheons widen like a stain Portending Sound is dead. "No herd or village fouls the shining tide, Till ocean lays a suzerain's armistice On brawling tributaries. Like a bride Greeting her lord it laved her with a kiss, And left her purified. "But the sea-Jinn, who dwell and dress in mauve, And hunt blind monsters down the corridors Between sunk vessels—fishers know the drove, Their horns and conches and the quarry's roars In autumn—hold that love "Should meet with more than pardon. So the pack Spliced up a wand of all the spillikin spars Flagged with the purple fantasies of wrack, Composed a spell not one of them could parse, And tried it on the sack. "'Twas filled with pearls! Each Jinni dipped his hand, And scattered trails through labyrinths of ooze, Or sowed gems thick upon the golden sand, Festooned a bed from Bahrein to Ormuz, Muscat to Ras Naband.... "Hajji, a deeper meaning than appears Beneath the surface of my song may lurk Like Jinn. How oft the crown of gathered years, The dazzling things for which men thank their work, Are made by Woman's tears." Tous shook his head and grunted, ceaselessly The caravan limped onward to the Gulf. |
|
