{"collection":"Islam","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/isl/kas/kas05.htm","path":"isl/kas/kas05.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/isl/kas/kas05.htm","text":"FIE, fie! you visionary things,\n ye motes that dance in sunny glow,\n Who base and build Eternities\n on briefest moment here below;\nWho pass through Life liked cag\u00e8d birds,\n the captives of a despot will;\n Still wond'ring How and When and Why,\n and Whence and Whither, wond'ring still;\nStill wond'ring how the Marvel came\n because two coupling mammals chose\n To slake the thirst of fleshly love,\n and thus the \"Immortal Being\" rose;\nWond'ring the Babe with staring eyes,\n perforce compel'd from night to day,\n Gript in the giant grasp of Life\n like gale-born dust or wind-wrung spray;\n{p. 19}\nWho comes imbecile to the world\n 'mid double danger, groans, and tears;\n The toy, the sport, the waif and stray\n of passions, error, wrath and fears;\nWho knows not Whence he came nor Why,\n who kens not Whither bound and When,\n Yet such is Allah's choicest gift,\n the blessing dreamt by foolish men;\nWho step by step perforce returns\n to couthless youth, wan, white and cold,\n Lisping again his broken words\n till all the tale be fully told:\nWond'ring the Babe with quench\u00e8d orbs,\n an oldster bow'd by burthening years,\n How 'scaped the skiff an hundred storms;\n how 'scaped the thread a thousand shears;\nHow coming to the Feast unbid,\n he found the gorgeous table spread\n With the fair-seeming Sodom-fruit,\n with stones that bear the shape of bread:\n{p. 20}\nHow Life was nought but ray of sun\n that clove the darkness thick and blind,\n The ravings of the reckless storm,\n the shrieking of the rav'ening wind;\nHow lovely visions 'guiled his sleep,\n aye fading with the break of morn,\n Till every sweet became a sour,\n till every rose became a thorn;\nTill dust and ashes met his eyes\n wherever turned their saddened gaze;\n The wrecks of joys and hopes and loves,\n the rubbish of his wasted days;\nHow every high heroic Thought\n that longed to breathe empyrean air,\n Failed of its feathers, fell to earth,\n and perisht of a sheer despair;\nHow, dower'd with heritage of brain,\n whose might has split the solar ray,\n His rest is grossest coarsest earth,\n a crown of gold on brow of clay;\n{p. 21}\nThis House whose frame be flesh and bone,\n mortar'd with blood and faced with skin,\n The home of sickness, dolours, age;\n unclean without, impure within:\nSans ray to cheer its inner gloom,\n the chambers haunted by the Ghost,\n Darkness his name, a cold dumb Shade\n stronger than all the heav'nly host.\nThis tube, an enigmatic pipe,\n whose end was laid before begun,\n That lengthens, broadens, shrinks and breaks;\n --puzzle, machine, automaton;\nThe first of Pots the Potter made\n by Chrysorrhoas' blue-green wave;[1]\n Methinks I see him smile to see\n what guerdon to the world he gave!\nHow Life is dim, unreal, vain,\n like scenes that round the drunkard reel;\n How \"Being\" meaneth not to be;\n to see and hear, smell, taste and feel.\n[1. The Abana, River of Damascus.]\n{p. 22}\nA drop in Ocean's boundless tide,\n unfathom'd waste of agony;\n Where millions live their horrid lives\n by making other millions die.\nHow with a heart that would through love\n to Universal Love aspire,\n Man woos infernal chance to smite,\n as Min'arets draw the thunder-fire.\nHow Earth on Earth builds tow'er and wall,\n to crumble at a touch of Time;\n How Earth on Earth from Sh\u00eenar-plain\n the heights of Heaven fain would climb.\nHow short this Life., how long withal;\n how false its weal, how true its woes,\n This fever-fit with paroxysms\n to mark its opening and its close.\nAh! gay the day with shine of sun,\n and bright the breeze, and blithe the throng\n Met on the River-bank to play,\n when I was young, when I was young:\n{p. 23}\nSuch general joy could never fade;\n and yet the chilling whisper came\n One face had paled, one form had failed;\n had fled the bank, had swum the stream;\nStill revellers danced, and sang, and trod\n the hither bank of Time's deep tide,\n Still one by one they left and fared\n to the far misty thither side;\nAnd now the last hath slipt away\n yon drear death-desert to explore,\n And now one Pilgrim worn and lorn\n still lingers on the lonely shore.\nYes, Life in youth-tide standeth still;\n in manhood streameth soft and slow;\n See, as it nears the 'abysmal goal\n how fleet the waters flash and flow!\nAnd Deaths are twain; the Deaths we see\n drop like the leaves in windy Fall;\n But ours, our own, are ruined worlds,\n a globe collapst, last end of all.\n{p. 24}\nWe live our lives with rogues and fools,\n dead and alive, alive and dead,\n We die 'twixt one who feels the pulse\n and one who frets and clouds the head.\nAnd,--oh, the Pity!--hardly conned\n the lesson comes its fatal term;\n Fate bids us bundle up our books,\n and bear them bod'ily to the worm:\nHardly we learn to wield the blade\n before the wrist grows stiff and old;\n Hardly we learn to ply the pen\n ere Thought and Fancy faint with cold.\nHardly we find the path of love,\n to sink the self, forget the \"I,\"\n When sad suspicion grips the heart,\n when Man, the Man begins to die:\nHardly we scale the wisdom-heights,\n and sight the Pisgah-scene around,\n And breathe the breath of heav'enly air,\n and hear the Spheres' harmonious sound;\n{p. 25}\nWhen swift the Camel-rider spans\n the howling waste, by Kismet sped,\n And of his Magic Wand a wave\n hurries the quick to join the dead.[1]\nHow sore the burden, strange the strife;\n how full of splendour, wonder, fear;\n Life, atom of that Infinite Space\n that stretcheth 'twixt the Here and There.\nHow Thought is imp'otent to divine\n the secret which the gods defend,\n The Why of birth and life and death,\n that Isis-veil no hand may rend.\nEternal Morrows make our day;\n our is\u00a0is aye to be till when\n Night closes in; 'tis all a dream,,\n and yet we die,--and then and THEN?\nAnd still the Weaver plies his loom,\n whose warp and woof is wretched Man\n Weaving th' unpattern'd dark design,\n so dark we doubt it owns a plan.\n[1. Death in Arabia rides a Camel, not a pale horse.]\n{p. 26}\nDost not, O Maker, blush to hear,\n amid the storm of tears and blood,\n Man say Thy mercy made what is,\n and saw the made and said 'twas good?\nThe marvel is that man can smile\n dreaming his ghostly ghastly dream;-\n Better the heedless atomy\n that buzzes in the morning beam!\nO the dread pathos of our lives!\n how durst thou, Allah, thus to play\n With Love, Affection, Friendship,\n all that shows the god in mortal clay.\nBut ah! what 'vaileth man to mourn;\n shall tears bring forth what smiles ne'er brought;\n Shall brooding breed a thought of joy?\n Ah hush the sigh, forget the thought!\nSilence thine immemorial quest,\n contain thy nature's vain complaint\n None heeds, none cares for thee or thine;\n like thee how many came and went?\n{p. 27}\nCease, Man, to mourn, to weep, to wail;\n enjoy thy shining hour of sun;\n We dance along Death's icy brink,\n but is the dance less full of fun?\n{p. 28}","title":"The Kas\u00eedah of H\u00e2j\u00ee Abd\u00fb El-Yezd\u00ee: III","type":"page"}