Far Horizons

by Bliss Carman




THIS ring, of course, takes your eye,—
A splendid great scarab of green.
Imagine how Pharaoh went by,
And this on his finger was seen!

Singing girls going before,

Lifting their pæans of praise;
Suppliants bowed to the floor,
Proclaiming his greatness of days;

Fan-bearers following after,
With clash of the cymbals and drums;

Incense that floats to the rafter;
The cry of the flutes where he comes;

Priests in their purple and scarlet,
Dancers in brassiers of gold,
The merchant, the scribe, and the harlot,

The soothsayers shaven and old;

All these are now dust of the East,—
Their vanity, power, and pride
Gone with the flowers of their feast,
Past with their music that died.


And still this symbol remains
A treasure the ages hold fast,—
Sign that the spirit attains
Its mystic perfection at last.

*           *           *           *           *           *

Guarding the emblem they hold,

How freshly these irises blend,
Wrought in a setting of gold
Designed by George Marcus, my friend!