PRAYER
When you ascend a sapphire mountain
And heaven in your palm you hold,
Or listen to a torrent pounding
A rhythm that is ages old,
When hawks are cliff and crag surveying
And sheep through mountain pastures pour,
To mother earth you feel like praying,
Though you have never prayed before.
When on the ocean’s far horizon
The sun’s great orb of fire pales,
As if the wick of some huge lantern
Were being trimmed; when daylight fails
And, as it dips into the ocean,
The waves envelop half the sun,
You kneel, although you have no notion
How such devotions should be done.
When old men’s fingertips are kneading
Grey beards, when mother’s arms console
The baby at her bosom feeding—
And such things ever sear your soul,
When earth and heaven are provoking
Your will to grasp life’s vital thread,
You feel yourself with prayers choking,
Who never heard a prayer said.
A CURSE
A curse on leaky skins
That cannot carry wine!
A curse on knives and pins
That do not keep their shine!
A curse on cloaks which chill,
On verse that’s cold and slick,
On spits that undergrill
A succulent shashlyk,
On men who talk to you
Of honour—but have none,
A curse on authors who
Debase their mother tongue,
On men who all their lives
A conscience never saw,
On anyone who drives
His kinsman from the door!
A curse on cant and lies,
The source of many ills,
On hillmen who despise
The custom of the hills,
On men who, like the owl,
Of daylight are afraid,
Who break a solemn vow
As soon as it is made!
I’ll curse, if even now
The tears run down their cheeks,
Caucasians who bow
To men instead of peaks!
A curse on all who spurn
Their parents, all who show
No brotherly concern
For any sister’s woe!