THE PROMOTION OF THE SOLDIER Serdar-i-Jang, the Wazir of the west, Of all mankind had served his country best By weeding it. The terror of his name Lapped up the barren Pusht-i-kuh like flame, Till the Shah smiled: "My other lords of war lose Battles, but he wrings love from my Baharlus." He smote them hip and thigh. The man was brave. Having four wives, he needs must take for slave Whatever captive baggage crossed his path, And never feared love for its aftermath. Thus fared the Wazir while his locks were blue. The silver in them found him captive too. The singing caravan in chorus flowed Past the clay porticoes of his abode. She came, he saw, was conquered--like a puppet Drawn to the window, to the street and up it, Forth to the desert, leaving in the lurch His pleasant wars and policies to search For what? He knew not. Haply for the truth Whose home is open eyes, not dreams or youth. But this he dimly knew, that something strange, Beauty, had come within his vision's range; And a new splendour, running through the world, Drummed at the postern of his senses, hurled Him forth, this warrior proud and taciturn, Footsore upon a pilgrimage to learn Humility.... These beggars, in whose wake He toiled, ne'er paused for him to overtake Their echoes. When at dusk he joined their ring None rose or bowed. All watched him. Could he sing? And he could not, for never had he thrown His days away on verse! He sat alone, So that his silence stamped him with the badge Of hanger-on or menial of this _haj_. Thrust as he would with much unseemly din, He found no place beside the palanquin, Till Seyid Rida, scholar of Nejaf, Took pity on him, saying: "You shall laugh At these black days when, having served your time, You share the sovereignty of Persian rhyme. Be patient, pray to Allah, O my son, For power of worship. It shall come anon...." Seyid Rida spoke in vain. The Wazir's place So far behind the Queen, her perfect face But half-divined, as Sight denied to Faith, A doubt lest love itself should be a wraith Dazzling but mocking him, these stirred his passion To sworn defiance, to his last Circassian And thoughts of many a woman taken by force, Restive and then submissive as a horse. And now.... He followed in the wake of vision Lofty and pure as Elburz snows. Derision Would follow him in turn!... He shook his fist Toward the feet his soul would fain have kissed: