On Reading Omar Khayyam

[During an anti-saloon campaign, in central Illinois.]         In the midst of the battle I turned,         (For the thunders could flourish without me)         And hid by a rose-hung wall,         Forgetting the murder about me;         And wrote, from my wound, on the stone,         In mirth, half prayer, half play: -         "Send me a picture book,         Send me a song, to-day."         I saw him there by the wall         When I scarce had written the line,         In the enemy's colors dressed         And the serpent-standard of wine         Writhing its withered length         From his ghostly hands o'er the ground,         And there by his shadowy breast         The glorious poem I found.         This was his world-old cry:         Thus read the famous prayer:         "Wine, wine, wine and flowers         And cup-bearers always fair!"         'Twas a book of the snares of earth         Bordered in gold and blue,         And I read each line to the wind         And read to the roses too:         And they nodded their womanly heads         And told to the wall just why         For wine of the earth men bleed,         Kingdoms and empires die.         I envied the grape stained sage:         (The roses were praising him.)         The ways of the world seemed good         And the glory of heaven dim.         I envied the endless kings         Who found great pearls in the mire,         Who bought with the nation's life         The cup of delicious fire.         But the wine of God came down,         And I drank it out of the air.         (Fair is the serpent-cup,         But the cup of God more fair.)         The wine of God came down         That makes no drinker to weep.         And I went back to battle again         Leaving the singer asleep.