Last Poems Part 2

Song of the Peri

Beauty, the Gift of Gifts, I give to thee.

Pleasure and love shall spring around thy feet As through the lake the lotuses arise Pinkly transparent and divinely sweet.

I give thee eyes aglow like morning stars, Delicate brows, a mist of sable tresses, That all the journey of thy lie may be Lit up by love and softened by caresses.

For those who once were proud and softly bred Shall, kneeling, wait thee as thou pa.s.sest by, They who were pure shall stretch forth eager hands Crying, "Thy pity, Lord, before we die!"

And one shall murmur, "If the sun at dawn Shall open and caress a happy flower, What blame to him, although the blossom fade In the full splendour of his noontide power?"

And one, "If aloes close together grow It well may chance a plant shall wounded be, Pierced by the thorntips of another's leaves, Thus am I hurt unconsciously by thee."

For some shall die and many more shall sin, Suffering for thy sake till seven times seven, Because of those most perfect lips of thine Which held the power to make or mar their heaven.

And though thou givest back but cruelty, Their love, persistent, shall not heed nor care, All those whose ears are fed with blame of thee Shall say, "It may be so, but he was fair."

Ay, those who lost the whole of youth for thee, Made early and for ever, shamed and sad, Shall sigh, re-living some sweet memory, "Ah, once it was his will to make me glad."

Thy nights shall be as bright as summer days, The sequence of thy sins shall seem as duty, Since I have given thee, Oh, Gift of Gifts!-- The pale perfection of unrivalled beauty.

Though in my Firmament thou wilt not shine

Talk not, my Lord, of unrequited love, Since love requites itself most royally.

Do we not live but by the sun above, And takes he any heed of thee or me?

Though in my firmament thou wilt not shine, Thy glory, as a Star, is none the less.

Oh, Rose, though all unplucked by hand of mine, Still am I debtor to thy loveliness.

The Convert

The sun was hot on the tamarind trees, Their shadows shrivelled and shrank.

No coolness came on the off-sh.o.r.e breeze That rattled the scrub on the bank.

She stretched her appealing arms to me, Uplifting the Flagon of Love to me, Till--great indeed was my unslaked thirst-- I paused, I stooped, and I drank!

I went with my foe to the edge of the crater,-- But no one to return, we knew,-- The lava's heat had never been greater Than the ire between us two.

He flung back his head and he mocked at me, He spat unspeakable words at me, Our eyes met, and our knives met, I saw red, and I slew!

Such were my deeds when my youth was hot, And force was new to my hand, With many more that I tell thee not, Well known in my native land.

These show thy Christ when thou prayest to Him, He too was a man thou sayest of Him, Therefore He, when I reach His feet, Will remember, and understand.

Ash.o.r.e

Out I came from the dancing-place: The night-wind met me face to face--

A wind off the harbour, cold and keen, "I know," it whistled, "where thou hast been."

A faint voice fell from the stars above-- "Thou? whom we lighted to shrines of Love!"

I found when I reached my lonely room A faint sweet scent in the unlit gloom.

And this was the worst of all to bear, For someone had left while lilac there.

The flower you loved, in times that were.

Yasin Khan

Ay, thou has found thy kingdom, Yasin Khan, Thy fathers' pomp and power are thine, at last.

No more the rugged roads of Khorasan, The scanty food and tentage of the past!

Wouldst thou make war? thy followers know no fear.

Where shouldst thou lead them but to victory?

Wouldst thou have love? thy soft-eyed slaves draw near, Eager to drain thy strength away from thee.

My thoughts drag backwards to forgotten days, To scenes etched deeply on my heart by pain; The thirsty marches, ambuscades, and frays, The hostile hills, the burnt and barren plain.

Hast thou forgotten how one night was spent, Crouched in a camel's carcase by the road, Along which Akbar's soldiers, scouting, went, And he himself, all unsuspecting, rode?

Did we not waken one despairing dawn, Attacked in front, cut off in rear, by snow, Till, like a tiger leaping on a fawn, Half of the hill crashed down upon the foe?

Once, as thou mournd'st thy lifeless brother's fate, The red tears falling from thy shattered wrist, A spent Waziri, forceful still, in hate, Covered they heart, ten paces off,--and missed!

Ahi, men thrust a worn and dinted sword Into a velvet-scabbarded repose; The gilded pageants that salute thee Lord Cover _one_ sorrow-rusted heart, G.o.d knows.

Ah, to exchange this wealth of idle days For one cold reckless night of Khorasan!

To crouch once more before the camp-fire blaze That lit the lonely eyes of Yasin Khan.

To watch the starlight glitter on the snows, The plain stretched round us like a waveless sea, Waiting until thy weary lids should close To slip my furs and spread them over thee.

How the wind howled about the lonely pa.s.s, While the faint snow-shine of that plateaued s.p.a.ce Lit, where it lay upon the frozen gra.s.s, The mournful, tragic beauty of thy face.

Thou hast enough caressed the scented hair Of these soft-breasted girls who waste thee so.

Hast thou not sons for every adult year?

Let us arise, O Yasin Khan, and go!

Let us escape from these prison bars To gain the freedom of an open sky, Thy soul and mine, alone beneath the stars, Intriguing danger, as in days gone by.

Nay; there is no returning, Yasin Khan.

The white peaks ward the pa.s.ses, as of yore, The wind sweeps o'er the wastes of Khorasan;-- But thou and I go thitherward no more.

Close, ah, too close, the bitter knowledge clings, We may not follow where my fancies yearn.