No More Learning

And within it were the Caverns
Tunnelled into every part,
Some by ancient Persian devils,
Others by a modern art.

Where the terraced lawns lay dreaming,
Underneath a cedar-tree
Dozed an ancient, ancient person
Tiny as a child of three.
Every day a gobbling negro
To his place the old man carried;
Very feeble and exhausted
Did he seem--but still he tarried.
Then Hasan, the young lord, murmured,
As he feasted in the taverns,
"It is time to take my Father,
I must bear him to the Caverns. "

So he took his long-maned pony,
Her who wore the silver shoes,
Galloped thro' the crowded highways
Like one with no time to lose.
Purpose in his warning outcry
(Was he not the next of kin? )
Till he reached his palace gateway,
Flung the rein and fled within,
Chose with care a wicker basket
Very strong and deep and wide,
Laying shawls of costliest texture
And an eider quilt inside.

Underneath the spreading cedar,
In an arbour newly built,
Found Hasan his ancient person,
Put him underneath the quilt,
Mounted then his long-maned pony
With the basket on his arm,
Carrying it very firmly
Lest his father might take harm.
Galloped thro' the crowded highway,
Passing by the Street of Taverns,
Fourteen leagues across the desert
Till he came unto the Caverns.

Fastened then his long-maned pony
To a ring-post at the mouth
(Scores and scores of ring-posts were there
Where the Caverns faced the South)
Plunged within the long wide gallery
Tunnelled 'neath the rocky roof,
With a lantern light exploring
All the dark which lay aloof,
Treading swiftly, treading surely,
With the basket on his arm,
Carrying it very firmly
Lest his father might take harm.

Till he came a byway unto
Fashioned from another way,
And a niche seen at the summit
Of a guiding lantern ray.
Lifted then the basket gently,
Poised, and placed it in the niche,
Saying "Farewell, ancient father,
'Tis the custom" . . . after which
Bowed his head before his father
Thrice, and swiftly turned to go,
Knowing that it was the custom,
Thinking it was better so.
Suddenly he heard a droning,
Like a gnat's small plaintive lay,
Somewhere in the dark behind him
Where the "Ancient Persons" lay,
Heard a little ghostly twitter
Like a voice addressing him,
Turned and saw his father staring
Just above the basket rim,
Staring at Hasan, his strong son,
With his filmy red-rimmed eyes,
"What's ado, Oh! ancient father? "
Cried Hasan in great surprise.

"Son," replied the ancient person,
"Tho' a miser is disgraced,
Even in a wealthy household
Monstrous is the crime of waste,
Strong and shapely is the basket
Much hath held and more will take;
If you leave it in the Caverns
Won't it be a great mistake?
So, for once, let custom perish. . . .
Son, 'tis I, your father, ask it,
Lift me out and lay me gently
On the rock and . . . take our basket. "

Oh! the young lord's wild amazement
As he heard that tiny hum;
Turned the lantern light behind him
Stricken with amazement dumb.
Oh! the young lord's vast confusion
As its meaning gave a flicker--
Oh!