I <br />We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage <br /> And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, <br />We Poets of the proud old lineage <br /> Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, - <br /> <br />What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales <br /> Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest, <br />Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales, <br /> And winds and shadows fall towards the West: <br /> <br />And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings <br /> In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep, <br />And closer round their breasts the ivy clings, <br /> Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep. <br /> <br />II <br />And how beguile you? Death has no repose <br /> Warmer and deeper than the Orient sand <br />Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those <br /> Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand. <br /> <br />And now they wait and whiten peaceably, <br /> Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair: <br />They know time comes, not only you and I, <br /> But the whole world shall whiten, here or there; <br /> <br />When those long caravans that cross the plain <br /> With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells <br />Put forth no more for glory or for gain, <br /> Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells. <br /> <br />When the great markets by the sea shut fast <br /> All that calm Sunday that goes on and on: <br />When even lovers find their peace at last, <br /> And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.<br /><br />James Elroy Flecker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-golden-journey-to-samarkand/
