Ferishtah's Fancies/A Pillar at Sebzevah
11. A PILLAR AT SEBZEVAH.
"Knowledge deposed, then!"—groaned whom that most grievedAs foolishest of all the company."What, knowledge, man's distinctive attribute,He doffs that crown to emulate an assBecause the unknowing long-ears loves at leastHusked lupines, and belike the feeder's self—Whose purpose in the dole what ass divines?"
"Friend," quoth Ferishtah, "all I seem to knowIs—I know nothing save that love I can Boundlessly, endlessly. My curls were crownedIn youth with knowledge,—off, alas, crown slippedNext moment, pushed by better knowledge stillWhich nowise proved more constant: gain, to-day,Was toppling loss to-morrow, lay at last—Knowledge, the golden?—lacquered ignorance!As gain—mistrust it! Not as means to gain:Lacquer we learn by: cast in fining-pot,We learn,—when what seemed ore assayed proves dross,—Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purityI' the lode were precious could one light on oreClarified up to test of crucible.The prize is in the process: knowledge meansEver-renewed assurance by defeatThat victory is somehow still to reach: But love is victory, the prize itself:Love—trust to! Be rewarded for the trustIn trust's mere act. In love success is sure,Attainment—no delusion, whatsoe'erThe prize be apprehended as a prize,A prize it is. Thy child as surely graspsAn orange as he fails to grasp the sunAssumed his capture. What if soon he findsThe foolish fruit unworthy grasping? JoyIn shape and colour,—that was joy as true—Worthy in its degree of love—as graspOf sun were, which had singed his hand beside.What if he said the orange held no juiceSince it was not that sun he hoped to suck?This constitutes the curse that spoils our life And sets man maundering of his misery,That there 's no meanest atom he obtainsOf what he counts for knowledge but he cries'Hold here,—I have the whole thing,—know, this time,Nor need search farther!' Whereas, strew his pathWith pleasures, and he scorns them while he stoops:'This fitly call'st thou pleasure, pick up thisAnd praise it, truly? I reserve my thanksFor something more substantial.' Fool not thusIn practising with life and its delights!Enjoy the present gift, nor wait to knowThe unknowable. Enough to say 'I feelLove's sure effect, and, being loved, must loveThe love its cause behind,—I can and do!'Nor turn to try thy brain-power on the fact, (Apart from as it strikes thee, here and now—Its how and why, i' the future and elsewhere)Except to—yet once more, and ever again,Confirm thee in thy utter ignorance:Assured that, whatsoe'er the qualityOf love's cause, save that love was caused thereby,This—nigh upon revealment as it seemedA minute since—defies thy longing looks,Withdrawn into the unknowable once more.Wholly distrust thy knowledge, then, and trustAs wholly love allied to ignorance!There lies thy truth and safety. Love is praise,And praise is love! Refine the same, contriveAn intellectual tribute—ignoranceAppreciating ere approbative Of knowledge that is infinite? With us,The small, who thank the knowledge of our kindGreater than we, the wiser ignoranceRestricts its apprehension, sees and knowsNo more than brain accepts in faith of sight,Takes first what comes first, only sure so far.A certain pillar stands by SebzevahSo aptly that its gnomon tells the hour;What if the townsmen said 'Before we thankWho placed it, for his serviceable craft,And go to dinner since its shade tells noon,Needs must we have the craftsman's purpose clearOn half a hundred more recondite pointsThan a mere summons to a vulgar meal!'Better they said 'How opportune the help!
Be loved and praised, thou kindly-hearted sageWhom Hudhud taught,—the gracious spirit-bird,—How to construct the pillar, teach the time!'So let us say—not 'Since we know, we love,'But rather 'Since we love, we know enough.'Perhaps the pillar by a spell controlledMushtari in his courses? Added graceSurely I count it that the sage devised,Beside celestial service, ministryTo all the land, by one sharp shade at noonFalling as I foresee. Once more, then, Friend—(What ever in those careless ears of thineWithal I needs must round thee)—knowledge doubtEven wherein it seems demonstrable!Love,―in the claim for love, that 's gratitude For apprehended pleasure, nowise doubt!Pay its due tribute,—sure that pleasure is,While knowledge may be, at the most. See, now!Eating my breakfast, I thanked God.—'For loveShown in the cherries' flavour? ConsecrateSo petty an example?' There's the fault!We circumscribe omnipotence. Search sandTo unearth water: if first handful scoopedYields thee a draught, what need of digging downFull fifty fathoms deep to find a springWhereof the pulse would deluge half the land?Drain the sufficient drop, and praise what checksThe drouth that glues thy tongue,—what more would helpA brimful cistern? Ask the cistern's boon When thou would'st solace camels: in thy case,Relish the drop and love the loveable!"
"And what may be unloveable?"
"Why, hate!If out of sand comes sand and nought but sand,Affect not to be quaffing at mirage,Nor nickname pain as pleasure. That, belike,Constitutes just the trial of thy witAnd worthiness to gain promotion,—hence,Proves the true purpose of thine actual life.Thy soul's environment of things perceived,Things visible and things invisible,Fact, fancy—all was purposed to evolve This and this only—was thy wit of worthTo recognise the drop's use, love the same,And loyally declare against mirageThough all the world asseverated dustWas good to drink? Say, 'what made moist my lip,That I acknowledged moisture:' thou art saved!
For why? The creature and creator standRightly related so. Consider well!Were knowledge all thy faculty, then GodMust be ignored: love gains him by first leap.Frankly accept the creatureship: ask goodTo love for press bold to the tether's endAllotted to this life's intelligence!'So we offend?' Will it offend thyself If,—impuissance praying potency,—Thy child beseech that thou command the sunRise bright to-morrow—thou, he thinks supremeIn power and goodness, why should'st thou refuse?Afterward, when the child matures, perchanceThe fault were greater if, with wit full-grown,The stripling dared to ask for a dinar,Than that the boy cried 'Pluck Sitara downAnd give her me to play with!' ’Tis for himTo have no bounds to his belief in thee—For whom it also is to let her shineLustrous and lonely, so best serving him!"
Ask not one least word of praise!Words declare your eyes are bright?What then meant that summer day'sSilence spent in one long gaze?Was my silence wrong or right?
Ask not one least word of praise!Words declare your eyes are bright?What then meant that summer day'sSilence spent in one long gaze?Was my silence wrong or right?
Words of praise were all to seek!Face of you and form of you,Did they find the praise so weakWhen my lips just touched your cheek—Touch which let my soul come through?