Far Horizons

by Bliss Carman


 

THE GREEN SCARAB


 

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,

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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;

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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,

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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.

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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,

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