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Far
Horizons
by
Bliss Carman
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THE
GREEN SCARAB
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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.
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* *
*
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!
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