Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu/180

 The Golden Journey to Samarkand

PROLOGUE

We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, We Poets of the proud old lineage Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why,–

What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest, Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales, And winds and shadows fall toward the West:

And there the world’s first huge white—bearded kings In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep, And closer round their breasts the ivy clings, Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep. II And how beguile you? Death has no repose Warmer and deeper than that Orient sand Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those Who made the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

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