And times I asked them in, quite sure

The scissors should be ground.

The old man turned and spoke to me,

His face at last in view.

And then I thought those curious eyes

Were eyes that once I knew.

"The moon is but an emery-wheel

To whet the sword of God,"

He said. "And here beside my fire

I stretch upon the sod

Each night, and dream, and watch the stars

And watch the ghost-clouds go.

And see that sword of God in Heaven

A-waving to and fro.

I see that sword each century, friend.

It means the world-war comes

With all its bloody, wicked chiefs

And hate-inflaming drums.

Men talk of peace, but I have seen

That emery-wheel turn round.

The voice of Abel cries again

To God from out the ground.

The ditches must flow red, the plague

Go stark and screaming by

Each time that sword of God takes edge

Within the midnight sky.

And those that scorned their brothers here

And sowed a wind of shame

Will reap the whirlwind as of old

And face relentless flame."

And thus the scissors-grinder spoke,

His face at last in view.

_And there beside the railroad bridge

I saw the wandering Jew_.

XIII. My Lady in her White Silk Shawl

My lady in her white silk shawl

Is like a lily dim,

Within the twilight of the room

Enthroned and kind and prim.

My lady! Pale gold is her hair.

Until she smiles her face

Is pale with far Hellenic moods,

With thoughts that find no place

In our harsh village of the West

Wherein she lives of late,

She's distant as far-hidden stars,

And cold--(almost!)--as fate.

But when she smiles she's here again

Rosy with comrade-cheer,

A Puritan Bacchante made

To laugh around the year.

The merry gentle moon herself,

Heart-stirring too, like her,

Wakening wild and innocent love

In every worshipper.

XIV. Aladdin and the Jinn

"Bring me soft song," said Aladdin.

"This tailor-shop sings not at all.

Chant me a word of the twilight,

Of roses that mourn in the fall.

Bring me a song like hashish

That will comfort the stale and the sad,

For I would be mending my spirit,

Forgetting these days that are bad,

Forgetting companions too shallow,

Their quarrels and arguments thin,

Forgetting the shouting Muezzin:"--

"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.

"Bring me old wines," said Aladdin.

"I have been a starved pauper too long.

Serve them in vessels of jade and of shell,

Serve them with fruit and with song:--

Wines of pre-Adamite Sultans

Digged from beneath the black seas:--

New-gathered dew from the heavens

Dripped down from Heaven's sweet trees,

Cups from the angels' pale tables

That will make me both handsome and wise,

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