Ah, but he sits in a darkling place,
Hiding his hands, hiding his face,
Hiding his art behind the shine
Of the web that he weaves so long and fine.
Loudly the great wheel hums and rings
And we hear not even the song that he sings.
Over the whirr of the shuttles and all
The roar and the rush, does he hear when we call?
Only the colors that grow and glow
Swift as the hurrying shuttles go,
Only the figures vivid or dim
That flow from the hastening hands of him,
Only the fugitive shapes are we,
Wrought in the web of eternity.
VANITAS
Three queens of old in Yemen
Beside forgotten streams,
Three tall and stately women,
Dreamt three great stately dreams
Of love and power and pleasure and conquering quinqueremes.
They dreamt of love that squandered
All Egypt for a kiss,
They dreamt of fame and pondered
On proud Persepolis,
But most they yearned for the wild delights of pale Semiramis.
They had for lords and lovers
Dark kings of Araby,
Corsairs and wild sea-rovers
From many an alien lea,—
Black-bearded men who loved and fought and won them cruelly.
They reared a dreamlike palace
Stately and white and tall
As a lily's ivory chalice
Where every echoing hall
Was rumorous with rustling leaves and plashing water's fall.
There to the tinkling zither
And passionate guitars
They footed hence and hither
Beneath the breathless stars,
From bare round breast and shoulder waved their glimmering cymars.
Theirs was an empire's treasure
Of gems and rich attire,
Love had they beyond measure
And wine that burnt like fire;
Each stately queen in Yemen found verily her desire.