I see my land shine in a crystal bowl—
Rose minarets, white eagle-peaks look up.
There men lie drunken with the golden cup,
With golden wine regaling the sad soul.
A caravan goes slowly. Haunted earth
Trembles, harking conquest’s charging hoofs.
Soon over the rising towers and sinking roofs
The bluebird floats announcing day’s new birth.
Strange women smile behind a silver door.
Nude children dance and gather heaps of flowers
For beds. Bird-music echoes through the hours.
I follow a wild road, an ocean’s shore.
I lead a warring band a trackless course.
I kneel at noon with sandalled worshippers.