The Kahlil Gibran Collection

by Kahlil Gibran

  And the third frog spoke, and said, "It is neither the log nor the river that moves. The moving is in our thinking. For without thought nothing moves."

  And the three frogs began to wrangle about what was really moving. The quarrel grew hotter and louder, but they could not agree.

  Then they turned to the fourth frog, who up to this time had been listening attentively but holding his peace, and they asked his opinion.

  And the fourth frog said, "Each of you is right, and none of you is wrong. The moving is in the log and the water and our thinking also."

  And the three frogs became very angry, for none of them was willing to admit that his was not the whole truth, and that the other two were not wholly wrong.

  Then a strange thing happened. The three frogs got together and pushed the fourth frog off the log into the river.

  'Said a Sheet of Snow-White Paper. . .'

  Said a sheet of snow-white paper, "Pure was I created, and pure will I remain for ever. I would rather be burnt and turn to white ashes than suffer darkness to touch me or the unclean to come near me."

  The ink-bottle heard what the paper was saying, and it laughed in its dark heart; but it never dared to approach her. And the multicoloured pencils heard her also, and they too never came near her.

  And the snow-white sheet of paper did remain pure and chaste for ever, pure and chaste -- and empty.

  The Scholar and the Poet

  Said the serpent to the lark, "Thou flyest, yet thou canst not visit the recesses of the earth where the sap of life moveth in perfect silence." And the lark answered, "Aye, thou knowest over much, nay thou art wiser then all things wise -- pity thou canst not fly." And as if he did not hear, the serpent said, "Thou canst not see the secrets of the deep, nor move among the treasures of the hidden empire. It was but yesterday I lay in a cave of rubies. It is like the heart of a ripe pomegranate, and the faintest ray of light turns into a flame-rose. Who but me can behold such marvels?" And the lark said, "None, none but thee can lie among the crystal memories of the cycles -- pity thou canst not sing." And the serpent said, "I know a plant whose root descends to the bowels of the earth, and he who eats of that root becomes fairer than Ashtarte." And the lark said, "No one, no one but thee could inveil the magic thought of the earth -- pity thou canst not fly." And the serpent said, "There is a purple stream that runneth under a mountain, and he who drinketh of it shall become immortal even as the gods. Surely no bird or beast can discover that purple stream." And the lark answered, "If thou willest thou canst become deathless even as the gods -- pity thou canst not sing." And the serpent said, "I know a buried temple, which I visit once a moon. It was built by a forgotten race of giants, and upon its walls are graven the secrets of time and space, and he who reads them shall understand that which passeth all understanding." And the lark said, "Verily, if thou so desirest thou canst encircle with thy pliant body all knowledge of time and space -- pity thou canst not fly." Then the serpent was disgusted, and as he turned and entered into his hole he muttered, "Empty-headed songster!" And the lark flew away singing, "Pity thou canst not sing. Pity, pity, my wise one, thou canst not fly."

  Values

  Once a man unearthed in his field a marble statue of great beauty. And he took it to a collector who loved all beautiful things and offered it to him for sale, and the collector bought it for a large price. And they parted.

  And as the man walked home with his money he thought, and he said to himself, "How much life this money means! How can anyone give all this for a dead carved stone buried and undreamed of in the earth for a thousand years?"

  And now the collector was looking at his statue, and he was thinking, and he said to himself, "What beauty! What life! The dream of what a soul! -- and fresh with the sweet sleep of a thousand years. How can anyone give all this for money, dead and dreamless?"

  Other Seas

  A fish said to another fish, "Above this sea of ours there is another sea, with creatures swimmming in it -- and they live there even as we live here."

  The fish replied, "Pure fancy! Pure fancy! When you know that everything that leaves our sea by even an inch, and stays out of it, dies. What proof have you of other lives in other seas?"

  Repentance

  On a moonless night a man entered into his neighbour's garden and stole the largest melon he could find and brought it home.

  He opened it and found it still unripe.

  Then behold a marvel!

  The man's conscience woke and smote him with remorse; and he repented having stolen the melon.

  The Dying Man and the Vulture

  Wait, wait yet awhile, my eager friend.

  I shall yield but too soon this wasted thing,

  Whose agony overwrought and useless

  Exhausts your patience.

  I would not have your honest hunger

  Wait upon these moments :

  But this chain, though made of breath,

  Is hard to break.

  And the will to die,

  Stronger than all things strong,

  Is stayed by a will to live

  Feebler than all things feeble.

  Forgive me, comrade; I tarry too long.

  It is memory that holds my spirit ;

  A procession of distant days,

  A vision of youth spent in a dream,

  A face that bids my eyelids not to sleep,

  A voice that lingers in my ears,

  A hand that touches my hand.

  Forgive me that you have waited too long.

  It is over now, and all is faded :

  The face, the voice, the hand and the mist that brought them hither.

  The knot is untied.

  The cord is cleaved.

  And that which is neither food nor drink is withdrawn.

  Approach, my hungry comrade ;

  The board is made ready.

  And the fare, frugal and spare,

  Is given with love.

  Come, and dig your beak here, into the left side,

  And tear out of its cage this smaller bird,

  Whose wings can beat no more :

  I would have it soar with you into the sky.

  Come now, my friend, I am your host tonight,

  And you my welcome guest.

  Beyond my Solitude

  Beyond my solitude is another solitude, and to him who dwells therein my aloneness is a crowded market-place and my silence a confusion of sounds.

  Too young am I and too restless to seek that above-solitude. The voices of yonder valley still hold my ears and its shadows bar my way and I cannot go.

  Beyond these hills is a grove of enchantment and to him who dwells therein my peace is but a whirlwind and my enchantment an illusion.

  Too young am I and too riotous to seek that sacred grove. The taste of blood is clinging in my mouth, and the bow and the arrows of my fathers yet linger in my hand and I cannot go.

  Beyond this burdened self lives my freer self; and to him my dreams are a battle fought in twilight and my desires the rattling of bones.

  Too young am I and too outraged to be my freer self.

  And how shall I become my freer self unless I slay my burdened selves, or unless all men become free?

  How shall the eagle in me soar against the sun until my fledglings leave the nest which I with my own beak have built for them?

  The Last Watch

  At high tide of night, when the first breath of dawn came upon the wind, the forerunner, he who calls himself echo to a voice yet unheard, left his bed-chamber and ascended to the roof of his house. Long he stood and looked down upon the slumbering city. Then he raised his head, and even as if the sleepless spirits of all those asleep had gathered around him, he opened his lips and spoke, and he said :

  "My friends and neighbors and you who daily pass my gate, I would speak to you in your sleep, and in the valley of your dreams I would walk naked and unrestrained; for heedless are your waking hours and deaf are your sound- burdened ears.


  "Long did I love you and overmuch.

  "I love the one among you as though he were all, and all as if you were one. And in the spring of my heart I sang in your gardens, and in the summer of my heart I watched at your threshing- floors.

  "Yea, I loved you all, the giant and the pygmy, the leper and the anointed, and him who gropes in the dark even as him who dances his days upon the mountains.

  "You, the strong, have I loved, though the marks of your iron hoofs are yet upon my flesh; and you the weak, though you have drained my faith and wasted my patience.

  "You the rich have I loved, while bitter was your honey to my mouth; and you the poor, though you knew my empty-handed shame.

  "You the poet with the bowed lute and blind fingers, you have I loved in self-indulgence; and you the scholar ever gathering rotted shrouds in potters' fields.

  "You the priest I have loved, who sit in the silences of yesterday questioning the fate of my tomorrow; and you the worshippers of gods the images of your own desires.

  "You the thirsting woman whose cup is ever full, I have loved in understanding; and you the woman of restless nights, you too I have loved in pity.

  "You the talkative have I loved, saying, 'Life hath much to say'; and you the dumb have I loved, whispering to myself, 'Says he not in silence that which I fain would hear in words?"

  "And you the judge and the critic, I have loved also; yet when you have seen me crucified, you said, 'He bleeds rhythmically, and the pattern his blood makes upon his white skin is beautiful to behold.'

  "Yea, I have loved you all, the young and the old, the trembling reed and the oak.

  "But, alas, it was the over-abundance of my heart that turned you from me. You would drink love from a cup, but not from a surging river. You would hear love's faint murmur, but when love shouts you would muffle your ears.

  "And because I have loved you all you have said, 'Too soft and yielding is his heart, and too undiscerning is his path. It is the love of a needy one, who picks crumbs even as he sits at kingly feasts. And it is the love of a weakling, for the strong loves only the strong."

  "And because I have loved you overmuch you have said, 'It is but the love of a blind man who knows not the beauty of one nor the ugliness of another. And it is the love of the tasteless who drinks vinegar even as wine. And it is the love of the impertinent and the overweening, for what stranger could be our mother and father and sister and brother?'

  "This you have said, and more. For often in the market-place you pointed your fingers at me and said mockingly, 'There goes the ageless one, the man without seasons, who at the noon hour plays games with our children and at eventide sits with our elders and assumes wisdom and understanding.'

  "And I said, 'I will love them more. Aye, even more. I will hide my love with seeming to hate, and disguise my tenderness as bitterness. I will wear an iron mask, and only when armed and mailed shall I seek them.'

  "Then I laid a heavy hand upon your bruises, and like a tempest in the night I thundered in your ears.

  "From the housetop I proclaimed you hypocrites, Pharisees, tricksters, false and empty earth- bubbles.

  "The short-sighted among you I cursed for blind bats, and those too near the earth I likened to soulless moles.

  "The eloquent I pronounced fork-tongued, the silent, stone-lipped, and the simple and artless I called the dead never weary of death.

  "The seekers after world knowledge I condemned as offenders of the holy spirit and those who would naught but the spirit I branded as hunters of shadows who cast their nets in flat waters and catch but their own images.

  "Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart, bleeding within me, called you tender names.

  "It was love lashed by its own self that spoke. It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust. It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop, while my own love, kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.

  "But behold a miracle!

  "It was my disguise that opened your eyes, and my seeming to hate that woke your hearts.

  "And now you love me.

  "You love the swords that stroke you and the arrows that crave your breast. For it comforts you to be wounded and only when you drink of your own blood can you be intoxicated.

  "Like moths that seek destruction in the flame you gather daily in my garden; and with faces uplifted and eyes enchanted you watch me tear the fabric of your days. And in whispers you say the one to the other, 'He sees with the light of God. He speaks like the prophets of old. He unveils our souls and unlocks our hearts, and like the eagle that knows the way of foxes he knows our ways.'

  "Aye, in truth, I know your ways, but only as an eagle knows the ways of his fledglings. And I fain would disclose my secret. Yet in my need for your nearness I feign remoteness, and in fear of the ebb tide of your love I guard the floodgates of my love."

  After saying these things the forerunner covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. For he knew in his heart that love humiliated in its nakedness is greater than love that seeks triumph in disguise; and he was ashamed.

  But suddenly he raised his head, and like one waking from sleep he outstretched his arms and said, "Night is over, and we children of night must die when dawn comes leaping upon the hills; and out of our ashes a mightier love shall rise. And it shall laugh in the sun, and it shall be deathless."