The world hath just one tale to tell, and it is very old,
A little tale — a simple tale — a tale that's easy told:
“There was a youth in Babylon who greatly loved a maid!”
The world hath just one song to sing, but sings it unafraid,
A little song — a foolish song — the only song it hath:
“There was a youth in Ascalon who loved a girl in Gath!”
Homer clanged it, Omar twanged it, Greece and Persia knew!—
Nimrod's reivers, Hiram's weavers, Hindu, Kurd, and Jew —
Crowning Tyre, Troy afire, they have dreamed the dream;
Tiber-side and Nilus-tide brightened with the gleam —
Oh, the suing, sighing, wooing, sad and merry hours,
Blisses tasted, kisses wasted, building Babel's towers!
Hearts were aching, hearts were breaking, lashes wet with dew,
When the ships touched the lips of islands Sappho knew;
Yearning breasts and burning breasts, cold at last, are hid
Amid the glooms of carven tombs in Khufu's pyramid —
Though the sages, down the ages, smile their cynic doubt,
Man and maid, unafraid, put the schools to rout;
Seek to chain love and retain love in the bonds of breath,
Vow to hold love, bind and fold love even unto death!
The dust of forty centuries has buried Babylon,
And out of all her lovers dead rises only one;
Rises with a song to sing and laughter in his eyes,
The old song — the only song — for all the rest are lies!