The King

O vizier, thou art old, I young!Clear in these things I cannot see.My head is burning, and a heatIs in my skin which angers me.

But hear ye this, ye sons of men!They that bear rule, and are obeyed,Unto a rule more strong than theirsAre in their turn obedient made.

In vain therefore, with wistful eyesGazing up hither, the poor man,Who loiters by the high-heaped booths,Below there, in the Registàn,--

Says, “Happy he who lodges there!With silken raiment, store of rice,And for this drought, all kinds of fruits,Grape-sirup, squares of colored ice,--

“With cherries served in drifts of snow.”In vain hath a king power to buildHouses, arcades, enamelled mosques;And to make orchard-closes, filled

With curious fruit-trees brought from far,With cisterns for the winter-rain,And, in the desert, spacious innsIn divers places,--if that pain

Is not more lightened, which he feels,If his will be not satisfied;And that it be not, from all timeThe law is planted, to abide.

Thou wast a sinner, thou poor man!Thou wast athirst; and didst not see,That, though we take what we desire,We must not snatch it eagerly.

And I have meat and drink at will,And rooms of treasures, not a few.But I am sick, nor heed I these;And what I would, I cannot do.

Even the great honor which I have,When I am dead, will soon grow still;So have I neither joy, nor fame.But what I can do, that I will.

I have a fretted brick-work tombUpon a hill on the right hand,Hard by a close of apricots,Upon the road of Samarcand;

Thither, O vizier, will I bearThis man my pity could not save,And, plucking up the marble flags,There lay his body in my grave.

Bring water, nard, and linen-rolls!Wash off all blood, set smooth each limb!Then say, “He was not wholly vile,Because a king shall bury him.”