The Singing Caravan: A Sufi TaleVansittart, Robert Gilbert Vansittart, Baron
Religion
The Singing Caravan: A Sufi Tale
Vansittart, Robert Gilbert Vansittart, Baron
Poetry
The Greeks we came to bolster up against their weakness filled our
cup
With turpitude; the Byzantine put Circe's poison in our wine.
Our aspirations all became mean as our hosts; the inner flame
Went out. From many a starting-point we found a common ground in
shame;
For here no soul can keep its health, but cat-like honour creeps by
stealth
Down side streets where the children breathe an atmosphere of
rotting wealth.
Between our fellow-churches rose the hate that heaven had meant for
foes....
The infidel might well have laughed. Perhaps he did. We came to
blows.
And I was sad that Christians had nothing in common, saving bad
Blood, that our highest dizziest heads could all divide but none
could add.
But when spring lit the Judas-trees our chieftains kissed the
Emperor's knees.
We crossed to Asia sick at heart. Alexius kept us well apart,
Shuffling us o'er the Bosphorus. The number and the rank of us
Exceeded those who went to Troy for Helen the Adulterous.
On the Bithynian plain our force drew up: an hundred thousand horse
With foot and monks and womankind in crowds that none can call to
mind.
Fear stuffed the empty space ahead with devils and the shapes of
dread
That decked our church. A ghastly rush of loneliness made every
head
Feel like a pinpoint. Discontent ran through the score of nations
blent
In cries. Their ribald spokesman forced a drunkard's way to
Godfrey's tent:
_You that have led us through the many tests
Of Hungary, King Caloman, and Thrace,
Who think of kingdoms as of palimpsests
And human nature as a carapace,
Go up and prosper in your lofty chase!
We cannot live on barren mountain-crests.
Our wildest dreams are prisoners that pace
The little space between a woman's breasts._
_Here lies the stronghold that our zeal invests,
This infidel alone we long to face.
This hollow, where our constant fancy nests,
Is more to us than pedestal and dais.
Nay, we will go no farther in the race
For gain, respond no more to mean behests.
We know our cause, and reverently embrace
The little space between a woman's breasts._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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