Written by
W. E. B. Du Bois |
O Truce of God!
And primal meeting of the Sons of Man,
Foreshadowing the union of the World!
From all the ends of earth we come!
Old Night, the elder sister of the Day,
Mother of Dawn in the golden East,
Meets in the misty twilight with her brood,
Pale and black, tawny, red and brown,
The mighty human rainbow of the world,
Spanning its wilderness of storm.
Softly in sympathy the sunlight falls,
Rare is the radiance of the moon;
And on the darkest midnight blaze the stars—
The far-flown shadows of whose brilliance
Drop like a dream on the dim shores of Time,
Forecasting Days that are to these
As day to night.
So sit we all as one.
So, gloomed in tall and stone-swathed groves,
The Buddha walks with Christ!
And Al-Koran and Bible both be holy!
Almighty Word!
In this Thine awful sanctuary,
First and flame-haunted City of the Widened World,
Assoil us, Lord of Lands and Seas!
We are but weak and wayward men,
Distraught alike with hatred and vainglory;
Prone to despise the Soul that breathes within—
High visioned hordes that lie and steal and kill,
Sinning the sin each separate heart disclaims,
Clambering upon our riven, writhing selves,
Besieging Heaven by trampling men to Hell!
We be blood-guilty! Lo, our hands be red!
Not one may blame the other in this sin!
But here—here in the white Silence of the Dawn,
Before the Womb of Time,
With bowed hearts all flame and shame,
We face the birth-pangs of a world:
We hear the stifled cry of Nations all but born—
The wail of women ravished of their stunted brood!
We see the nakedness of Toil, the poverty of Wealth,
We know the Anarchy of Empire, and doleful Death of Life!
And hearing, seeing, knowing all, we cry:
Save us, World-Spirit, from our lesser selves!
Grant us that war and hatred cease,
Reveal our souls in every race and hue!
Help us, O Human God, in this Thy Truce,
To make Humanity divine!
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Written by
Vachel Lindsay |
"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.
Serve them in vessels of jade and of shell,
Serve them with fruit and with song:--
Wines of pre-Adamite Sultans
Digged from beneath the black seas:--
New-gathered dew from the heavens
Dripped down from Heaven's sweet trees,
Cups from the angels' pale tables
That will make me both handsome and wise,
For I have beheld her, the princess,
Firelight and starlight her eyes.
Pauper I am, I would woo her.
And--let me drink wine, to begin,
Though the Koran expressly forbids it."
"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.
"Plan me a dome," said Aladdin,
"That is drawn like the dawn of the MOON,
When the sphere seems to rest on the mountains,
Half-hidden, yet full-risen soon."
Build me a dome," said Aladdin,"
That shall cause all young lovers to sigh,
The fullness of life and of beauty,
Peace beyond peace to the eye--
A palace of foam and of opal,
Pure moonlight without and within,
Where I may enthrone my sweet lady."
"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
Take care, take good care of making noise in a tavern!
Pass the time there, but avoid all agitation. Sell the
turban, sell the book [the Koran] to buy wine. Finally,
let us pass through the medresseh [school of the mosques],
but let us not stop there.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
Men say the Koran holds all heavenly lore,
But on its pages seldom care to pore;
The lucid lines engraven on the bowl,—
That is the text they dwell on evermore.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
One hand with Koran, one with wine-cup dight,
I half incline to wrong, and half to right;
The azure-marbled sky looks down on me
A sorry Moslem, yet not heathen quite.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
We, in one hand, take the Koran; with the other we
seize the cup: sometimes you see us carried away with
that which is lawful, sometimes with what is prohibited.
We, then, beneath this azure vault, are not completely
infidel, or absolutely Musulman.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
Present a salutation on my account to Mostapha, and
afterward say to him with all the deference due: O
Lord Hachemite! why, in accordance with the law of the
Koran, is the sharp doug [whey] lawful, yet pure wine
prohibited?
358
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
This is the season of roses. Oh! I would now give
rein to one of my desires. I would commit an act which
infringes on the law of the Koran. Yea, for some days,
in company of the fair with velvet and bright tinted cheeks
spreading rose-colored wine over the green turf, I would
transform the plain into a field of tulips.
356
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
It would be troublesome if my hand, accustomed to
seize the cup, took the Koran and depended upon Mohammedan
diet. With you it is different; you are a dry
devotee, while I am a depraved one, moist [through drink],
and the only fire I know is kindled by wine.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
The Koran, which is but a name for The Sublime
Word, is, however, read only from time to time and not
with constancy; while ever on the brim of the cup
is found a verse full of light which one can read always
and everywhere.
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