Gibran Stories Omnibus

will enter the gate of life, while I
shall enter the gate of death. You will be received hospitably, while I
shall exist in solitude, but I shall erect a statue of love and worship
it in the valley of death. Love will be my sole comforter, and I shall
drink love like wine and wear it like garment. At dawn, Love will wake
me from slumber and take me to the distant field, and at noon will lead
me to the shadows of trees, where I will find shelter with the birds
from the heat of the sun. In the evening, it will cause me to pause
before sunset to hear nature's farewell song to the light of day and
will show me ghostly clouds sailing in the sky. At night, Love will
embrace me, and I shall sleep, dreaming of the heavenly world where the
spirits of lovers and poets abide. In the Spring I shall walk side by
side with love among violets and jasmines and drink the remaining drops
of winter in the lily cups. In Summer we shall make the bundles of hay
our pillows and the grass our bed, and the blue sky will cover us as we
gaze at the stars and the moon.
      In Autumn, Love and I will go to the vineyard and sit by the wine
press and watch the grapevines being denuded of their golden ornaments,
and the migrating flocks of birds will wing over us. In Winter, we
shall sit by the fireside reciting stories of long ago and chronicles
of far countries. During my youth, Love will be my teacher; in middle
age, my help; and in old age, my delight. Love, my beloved Selma, will
stay with me to the end of my life, and after death the hand of God
will unite us again.”
      All these words came from the depths of my heart like flames of fire
which leap raging from the hearth and then disappear in the ashes.
Selma was weeping as if her eyes were lips answering me with tears.
      Those whom love has not given wings cannot fly the cloud of
appearances to see the magic world in which Selma's spirit and mine
existed together in that sorrowfully happy hour. Those whom Love has
not chosen as followers do not hear when Love calls. This story is not
for them. Even if they should comprehend these pages, they would not be
able to grasp the shadowy meanings which are not clothed in words and
do not reside on paper, but what human being is he who has never sipped
the wine from the cup of love, and what spirit is it that has never
stood reverently before that lighted altar in the temple whose pavement
is the hearts of men and women and whose ceiling is the secret canopy
of dreams? What flower is that on whose leaves the dawn has never
poured a drop of dew; what streamlet is that which lost its course
without going to the sea?
      Selma raised her face toward the sky and gazed at the heavenly stars
which studded the firmament. She stretched out her hands; her eyes
widened, and her lips trembled. On her pale face, I could see the signs
of sorrow, oppression, hopelessness, and pain. Then she cried, “ Oh,
Lord, what has a woman done that hath offended Thee? What sin has she
committed to deserve such a punishment? For what crime has she been
awarded everlasting castigation? Oh, Lord, Thou art strong, and I am
weak. Why hast Thou made me suffer pain? Thou art great and almighty,
while I am nothing but a tiny creature crawling before Thy throne. Why
hast Thou crushed me with Thy foot? Thou art a raging tempest, and I am
like dust; why, my Lord, hast Thou flung me upon the cold earth? Thou
art powerful, and I am helpless; why art Thou fighting me? Thou art
considerate, and I am prudent; why art Thou destroying me? Thou hast
created woman with love, and why, with love, dost Thou ruin her? With
Thy right hand dost Thou lift her, and with Thy left hand dost Thou
strike her into the abyss, and she knows not why. In her mouth Thou
blowest the breath of Life, and in her heart Thou sowest the seeds of
death. Thou dost show her the path of happiness, but Thou leadest her
in the road of misery; in her mouth Thou dost place a song of
happiness, but then Thou dost close her lips with sorrow and dost
fetter her tongue with agony. With Thy mysterious fingers dost Thou
dress her wounds, and with Thine hands Thou drawest the dread of pain
round her pleasures. In her bed Thou hidest pleasure and peace, but
beside it Thou dost erect obstacles and fear. Thou dost excite her
affection through Thy will, and from her affection does shame emanate.
By Thy will Thou showest her the beauty of