Читать книгу The Singing Caravan: A Sufi Tale - Robert Gilbert Vansittart Baron Vansittart - Страница 6

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The watchman finished, as the southern gate

Clanged, and the breathless city lay behind.

The Dreamer's shadows shrank against the wall,

As though the desert called and none replied,

Till the young pilot, standing out to night,

Swung clear these lines to sound the depths of her:

"Blue Persian night,

Soft, voiceless as the summer sea!

Flooding the bouldered desert sand, submerge

This cypressed isle

And Demavend's snow-spire—a sunken rock

On your hushed floor, where I the diver stand

Beyond the reach of day.

And though, up through your overwhelming peace,

I see your surface, heaven,

I would not rise there, being drowned in you,

Blue Persian night.

"Blue Persian night,

O consolation of the East!

In your clear breathless oceanic sheen

My heart's an isle,

From whose innumerable caves and coigns—

When dusk awakes the city of my mind—

Exploring boats set forth,

Bound for the harbour-lights of God knows where,

Full, full of God knows what;

It must be love of Him, or Her, or You,

Blue Persian night."

Her signal answered; for a slender wand

Of moonbeam touched the Dreamer on the mouth.

The caravan looked upward with a shout

And set its camels rolling to the south,

Murmuring: "Blue Persian night, none ever saw

You through your own sheer purity before us.

Rise up our songs as bubbles from the sand ..."

Somewhere among the camels rose this chorus:

Dong! Dong!

Lurching along

Out of the dusk

Into the night.

Noiseless and lusty,

Dreamy and dusty,

Looms the long caravan-line into sight.

Dong! Dong!

Never a song,

Never a footfall

A breath or a sigh.

Ghostly and stolid,

Stately and squalid,

Creeps the monotonous caravan by.

Dong! Dong!

Fugitive throng.

Out of the dark

Into the night,

Silent and lonely,

Gone!... the bells only

Tells us a caravan once was in sight.