My soul once was pagan, By body once flesh. I was my own master, Free from any mesh. But now I go to the desert, And God burns in the sand; And if I flee to the mountain, Its peak is His right hand. The tavern vats ran ruddy; Their ecstasy was mine; And dancing-girls flung round me Rhythm's beauteous vine. But now the khan I rest in Has ashes on the floor, And the voice of God fills it, That and nothing more. I have become a question, I have become a doubt, Through which mystic fevers Wander in and out. Life now to me is only A swaying minaret, Which Death mounts thrice daily, That I may not forget. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DREAM LIFE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WE HAVE GONE THROUGH GREAT ROOMS TOGETHER by CARL SANDBURG A SENSE OF DIRECTION by KAREN SWENSON |