LAMENT OF EL MOULOK by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

Within the sacred precincts of the mosque,
Even on the very steps of St. Sophia,
He lifted up his voice and spoke these words,
El Moulok, who sang naught but love-songs once.
And now was crazed because his son was dead

O ye who leave
our slippers at the portal, as is meet.
Give heed an instant ere ye bow in prayer.

Ages ago,
Allah, grown weary of His myriad worlds.
Would one star more to hang against the blue.

Then of men's bones,
Millions on millions, did He build the earth;

Of women's tears,
Downfalling through the nighty He made the sea;

Of sighs and sobs
He made the winds that surge about the globe.

Where'er ye tread.
Ye tread on dust that once was living man.

The mist and rahi
Are tears that first from human eyelids fell.

The unseen winds
Breathe endless lamentation for the dead

Not so the ancient tablets told the tale,
Not so the Koran! This was blasphemy,
And they that heard El Moulok dragged him thence,
Even from the very steps of St. Sophia,
And loaded him with triple chains of steel,
And cast him in a dungeon.
None the less

Do women's tears fall ceaseless day and night,
And none the less do mortals faint and die
And turn to dust; and every wind that blows
About the globe seems heavy with the grief
Of those who sorrow, or have sorrowed, here.
Yet none the less is Allah the Most High,
The Clement, the Compassionate.
He sees Where we are blind, and hallowed be His Name!

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