“If I, my son,” he said, “had a horse and sword and a thousand men, I would build a city.”
“Why dost thou not fly thy falcon, or write thy thoughts upon the sand, as thou didst yesterday, my father?”
The man loosed the falcon from his wrist, and watched it fly away.
“My son, I care not for the falcon, nor any more for writing on the sands.”
“My father, if thou didst build a city, I would not tear it down, but I would keep it with my thousand men.
“Thou hast well said, my son.” And the man stooped and kissed the lad on the forehead.
And so they travelled on in silence for a long time, and slowly they came to the opal haze, which smelled sweet as floating flowers, and gave their hearts a halcyon restfulness. And glancing down at him many times, the father saw the lad’s face look serenely wise, without becoming old, and his brown hair clustered on his forehead with all the life of youth in it. Yet in his eyes the lad seemed as old as himself.
“My father,” said the lad again, “wouldst thou then build a city?”
And the father answered: “Nay, my son, I would sow seed, and gather it into harvest—enough for my needs, no more; and sit quiet in my doorway when my work was done, and be grateful to the gods.”
The lad waited a moment, then answered: “When thou wast a governor in our own country, thou hadst serfs and retainers without number, and fifty men to beat upon the shields of brass to tell of thy coming through the gates of the King’s house; now thou wouldst sow a field and sit quiet in thy doorway, like the blind seller of seed-cakes ‘gainst the temple.”