The Sufi In The City
I.
When late I watched the arrows of the
Against the windows of the Tavern beat, I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot:"Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street?
II."Before the phantom of False Morning dies,
Choked in the bitter Net that binds the skies, Their feet, bemired with Yesterday, set
For the dark alleys where To-morrow lies.
II."Think you, when all their petals they have bruised,
And all the fragrances of Life confused, That Night with sweeter rest will comfort
Than us, who still within the Garden mused?
IV."Think you the Gold they fight for all day
Is worth the frugal Peace their clamours wrong? Their Titles, and the Name they toil to build---Will they outlast the echoes of our Song?"V.
O Sons of Omar, what shall be the
Seek not to know, for no man living knows: But while within your hands the Wine is
Drink ye--to Omar and the Dreaming Rose!
Sir Henry Newbolt
Other author posts
England
Praise thou with praise unending, The Master of the Wine; To all their portions sending Himself he mingled thine: The sea-born flush of morning, The sea-born hush of night, The East wind comfort scorning, And the North wind driving ...
The Only Son
O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing, What of the dales tonight In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing, What ring of festal lights
Ionicus
With failing feet and shoulders bowed Beneath the weight of happier days, He lagged among the heedless crowd, Or crept along suburban ways But still through all his heart was young,
Hymn
In The Time Of War And TumultsO Lord Almighty, Thou whose hands Despair and victory give; In whom, though tyrants tread their lands, The souls of nations live; Thou wilt not turn Thy face away From those who work Thy will,
