"Tilth, waste and water, sand and sap, Tare, thorn and thistle, wine and oil, Run through _your_ Nature like a map, Are YOU. The ores that vein the soil Of time and substance manifold Await the hour that makes them gold, "That found the force of you dispersed On all adventure save a quest, And part perhaps was on the worst. It sent you all upon the best, Wherein the journey is the goal. Now leaving you they leave you whole. "The rabble melts, but more remains: The golden opportunity By which the choir in us attains Not unison but unity. We feel the sunbeam, not the motes. The Voice is made of many notes. "Slave, merchant, scholar, fighting-man, The gambling, stumbling, praying kith We called the Singing Caravan, Have made their song at least no myth Not dawn to which yon skylark soared But earth is his and your reward. "The story ends, but not the book. Sufi, the Queen that you ensued Led and shall lead you still to look On peace--it is not solitude. Through her your warring kingdoms met, And here is room for no regret." So Dreamer-of-the-Age returned With comfort, all his being fused At last, and thus at night he mused Beside the fire that in him burned: "Heirs of the beauty yet to be, Hail, from however far ahead Or out of sight I hear you tread The dust that made this tale and me. "Each day shall raise me to rejoice That lovers such as we must bear The unbroken chain of life and share Its thanksgiving. Perhaps my voice "Shall be the servant of your mind, Your linkman waiting in the arch Of phantom city-gates to march With you by secret ways. The wind "Shall tell me of you, he and I Be keenly with you, when you go Forth in my footsteps and the glow Of movement, steadfast to deny "Only the frailer self. My grief Shall answer your unspoken word Through blithe interpreters, a bird Waking, the sounds of rill and leaf. "By many a caravanserai I shall not fail to watch you come, You of some far millennium, Who, listening to the bird, will say: "'I seem to know that tune of his; He sings what all can understand.' In the clear water dip your hand: 'His deepest note was only this.' "You shall be glad of me, the shade, Sighing 'O friend.' And I shall keep The benediction of your sleep; And, when the woods of darkness fade,