Those of Tibet, who made their pence of gold,
And reckoned costly things by cups of water.
Ahasuerus.
What next seemed strange to you?
Hydaspes.
The Tartar horsemen
Who live on cheese of mare’s milk and go on
For ever over never-ending grass,
And have no home except the black felt tent
And the great plain and the great sky and silence.
Ahasuerus.
A good life, that, for men. Who, next to those?
Hydaspes.
The race of Sittras by the sacred river;
They are all men, grown grey; no women there.
They have put by their wives and families,
Their crowns, their swords, their households and their cares,
And seek for wisdom there, until they die.
Ahasuerus.