Duncan Campbell Scott - Fantasia

Here in Samarcand they offer emeralds, <br />Pure as frozen drops of sea-water, <br />Rubies, pale as dew-ponds stained with slaughter, <br />Where the fairies fought for a king's daughter <br />In the elfin upland. <br />Here they sell you jade and calcedony, <br />And the matrix of the turquoise, <br />Spheres of onyx held in eagles' claws, <br />But they keep the gems as far asunder <br />From the dull stones as the lightning from the thunder; <br />They can never come together <br />On the mats of Turkish leather <br />In the booths of Samarcand. <br /> <br />Here they sell you balls of nard and honey, <br />And squat jars of clarid butter, <br />And the cheese from Kurdistan. <br />When you offer Frankish money, <br />Then they scowl and curse and mutter, <br />Deep in Kurdish or Persan <br />For they want your heart out and my hand <br />In the booths of Samarcand. <br /> <br />They would sell your heart's blood separate, <br />In a jar with a gold brim, <br />With a text of burning hatred <br />Coiled around the rim; <br />They would sell my hand upon a beam of teak wood, <br />In the other scale a feather curled; <br />They would sell your heart upon a silver balance <br />Weighed against the world. <br />But your heart could never touch my hand, <br />They could never come together <br />On the mats of Turkish leather <br />In the booths of Samarcand.<br /><br />Duncan Campbell Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fantasia-3/