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Denis Florence MacCarthy
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 170 pages of information about Poems.

THE HOUSE

There is no architect
  Can build as the Muse can;
She is skilful to select
  Materials for her plan;

Slow and warily to choose
  Rafters of immortal pine,
Or cedar incorruptible,
  Worthy her design,

She threads dark Alpine forests
  Or valleys by the sea,
In many lands, with painful steps,
  Ere she can find a tree.

She ransacks mines and ledges
  And quarries every rock,
To hew the famous adamant
  For each eternal block—­

She lays her beams in music,
  In music every one,
To the cadence of the whirling world
  Which dances round the sun—­

That so they shall not be displaced
  By lapses or by wars,
But for the love of happy souls
  Outlive the newest stars.

SAADI

Trees in groves,
Kine in droves,
In ocean sport the scaly herds,
Wedge-like cleave the air the birds,
To northern lakes fly wind-borne ducks,
Browse the mountain sheep in flocks,
Men consort in camp and town,
But the poet dwells alone.

God, who gave to him the lyre,
Of all mortals the desire,
For all breathing men’s behoof,
Straitly charged him, ‘Sit aloof;’
Annexed a warning, poets say,
To the bright premium,—­
Ever, when twain together play,
Shall the harp be dumb.

Many may come,
But one shall sing;
Two touch the string,
The harp is dumb. 
Though there come a million,
Wise Saadi dwells alone.

Yet Saadi loved the race of men,—­
No churl, immured in cave or den;
In bower and hall
He wants them all,
Nor can dispense
With Persia for his audience;
They must give ear,
Grow red with joy and white with fear;
But he has no companion;
Come ten, or come a million,
Good Saadi dwells alone.

Be thou ware where Saadi dwells;
Wisdom of the gods is he,—­
Entertain it reverently. 
Gladly round that golden lamp
Sylvan deities encamp,
And simple maids and noble youth
Are welcome to the man of truth. 
Most welcome they who need him most,
They feed the spring which they exhaust;
For greater need
Draws better deed: 
But, critic, spare thy vanity,
Nor show thy pompous parts,
To vex with odious subtlety
The cheerer of men’s hearts.

Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say
Endless dirges to decay,
Never in the blaze of light
Lose the shudder of midnight;
Pale at overflowing noon
Hear wolves barking at the moon;
In the bower of dalliance sweet
Hear the far Avenger’s feet: 
And shake before those awful Powers,
Who in their pride forgive not ours. 
Thus the sad-eyed Fakirs preach: 
’Bard, when thee would Allah teach,
And lift thee to his holy mount,
He sends thee from his bitter fount

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