Gibran Stories Omnibus

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 swimming 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