When Father Time swings round his scythe,
Entomb me ‘neath the bounteous vine,
So that its juices, red and blithe,
May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.
“Elsewise with tears and bated breath
Should I survey the life to be.
But oh! How should I hail the death
That brings that–vinous grace to me!”
So sung the dauntless Saracen,
Whereat the Prophet-Chief ordains
That, curst of Allah, loathed of men,
The faithless one shall die in chains.
But one vile Christian slave that lay
A prisoner near that prisoner saith:
“God willing, I will plant some day
A vine where liest thou in death.”
Lo, over Abu Midjan’s grave
With purpling fruit a vine-tree grows;
Where rots the martyred Christian slave
Allah, and only Allah, knows!
(Eugene Field)
More Poetry from Eugene Field:
Eugene Field Poems based on Topics: Man, God, Life, Death & Dying- Lollyby, Lolly, Lollyby (Eugene Field Poems)
- Booh! (Eugene Field Poems)
- The Ballad Of The Taylor Pup (Eugene Field Poems)
- The Peter-Bird (Eugene Field Poems)
- A Proper Trewe Idyll Of Camelot (Eugene Field Poems)
- John Smith (Eugene Field Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, Death & Dying PoemsBased on Keywords: vine, neath, swings, saith, survey, faithless, whereat, curst, dauntless, christian, blithe