52
BLUE TILES
When behind two harsh towers the heavens looked thro'
In one soft sweep of unforgotten blue.
He swore by his long beard that Allah sent
This message to him: he should be content
With the brown earth He gave, the prophet's green
Of waving grass: the blue of heaven seen
Thro' the tall towers men builded, for it must
Be just as blue when men and towers were dust.
In one soft sweep of unforgotten blue.
He swore by his long beard that Allah sent
This message to him: he should be content
With the brown earth He gave, the prophet's green
Of waving grass: the blue of heaven seen
Thro' the tall towers men builded, for it must
Be just as blue when men and towers were dust.
So he returned to his own land, and strove
By the oil-lamp and into moth-filled dusk
Behind the fretted screen, while the inviting musk
From floating garments of white dancing girls
Whispered to him in vain. Where incense curls
In the dim mosque, his thoughts from Allah strayed
To mixing dyes that fadeless colour made!
And from his toil the countless ages thro',
Comes to a hardware shop the Persian blue.
By the oil-lamp and into moth-filled dusk
Behind the fretted screen, while the inviting musk
From floating garments of white dancing girls
Whispered to him in vain. Where incense curls
In the dim mosque, his thoughts from Allah strayed
To mixing dyes that fadeless colour made!
And from his toil the countless ages thro',
Comes to a hardware shop the Persian blue.
And yet I see, where some smug grate beguiles,
A malice in the hand that wrought these tiles!
A malice in the hand that wrought these tiles!
