Last Poems Part 4

Thou hast no wealth, nor any pride of power, Thy life is offered on affection's altar.

Small sacrifices claim thee, hour by hour, Yet on the tedious path thou dost not falter.

To the unknowing, well thy days might seem Circled by solitude and tireless duty, Yet is thy soul made radiant by a dream Of delicate and rainbow-coloured beauty.

Never a flower trembles in the wind, Never a sunset lingers on the sea, But something of its fragrance joins thy mind, Some sparkle of its light remains with thee.

Thus when thy spirit enters on its rest, Thy lips shall say, "I too have known the best!"

Disappointment

Oh, come, Beloved, before my beauty fades, Pity the sorrow of my loneliness.

I am a Rosebush that the Cypress shades, No sunbeams find or lighten my distress.

Daily I watch the waning of my bloom.

Ah, piteous fading of a thing so fair!

While Fate, remorseless, weaving at her loom, Twines furtive silver in my twisted hair.

This noon I watched a tremulous fading rose Rise on the wind to court a b.u.t.terfly.

"One speck of pollen, ere my petals close, Bring me one touch of love before I die!"

But the gay b.u.t.terfly, who had the power To grant, refused, flew far across the dell, And, as he fertilised a younger flower, The petals of the rose, defrauded, fell.

Such was my fate, thou hast not come to me, Thine eyes are absent, and thy voice is mute, Though I am slim, as this Papaya tree, With b.r.e.a.s.t.s out-pointing, even as its fruit.

Beauty was mine, it brought me no caress, My lips were red, yet there were none to taste, I saw my youth consume in loneliness, And all the fervour of my heart run waste.

While I still hoped that Thou would'st come to me, I and the garden waited for their Lord.

Here He will rest, beneath this Champa tree; Hence, all ye spike-set gra.s.ses from the sward!

In this cool rillet I shall bathe His feet, Come, rounded pebbles from a smoother sh.o.r.e.

This is the honey that His lips will eat, Hasten, O bees, enhance the amber store!

Ripen, ye Custard Apples, round and fair, Practise your songs, O Bulbuls, on the bough, Surely some sweeter sweetness haunts the air; Maybe His feet draw near us, even now!

Disperse, ye fireflies, cl.u.s.tered on the palm, Love heeds no lamp, he welcomes moonless skies: Soon shall ye find, O stars, serene and calm, Your sparkling rivals in my lover's eyes!

Closely I wove my leafy Jasmin bowers, Hoping to hide my pleasure and my shame, Where the Lantana's indecisive flowers Vary from palest rose to orange flame.

Ay, there were lovely hours, 'neath fern and palm, Almost my aching longing I forgot.

White nights of silence, noons of golden calm, All past, all wasted, since Thou camest not!

Night after night the Champa trees distilled Their cruel sweetness on the careless air.

Noon after noon I watched the Bulbuls build, And saw with hungry eyes the Sun-birds pair.

None came, and none will come; no use to wait,-- Youth's fragrance dies, its tender light dies down.

I will arise, before it grows too late, And seek the noisy brilliance of the town.

These many waiting years I longed for gold, Now must I needs console me with alloy.

Before this beauty fades, this pulse grows cold, I may not love, I will at least enjoy!

Farewell, my Solitude of scented flowers, Across whose glades the emerald parrots gleam, Haunt of false hope, and home of wasted hours, I am awake, at last,--Guard thou the dream!

On Pilgrimage

Oh, youthful bearer of my palanquin, Thy glossy hair lies loosened on thy neck, The "tears of labour" gem thy velvet skin, Whose even texture knows no other fleck.

Thy slender shoulder strains beneath my weight; Too fair thou art for work, sweet slave of mine.

Would that this idle breast, reversing fate, A willing serf to love, supported thine!

I smell the savage scent of sun-warmed fur Close in the Jungle, musky, hot and sweet.-- The air comes from thy shoulder, even as myrrh, Would we were as the panthers, free to meet.

The Temple road is steep; I grieve to see Thy slender ankles bruised among the clods.

Oh, my Beloved, if I might worship thee!

Beauty is greater far than all the G.o.ds.

The Rice-boat

I slept upon the Rice-boat That, reef protected, lay At anchor, where the palm-trees Infringe upon the bay.

The windless air was heavy With cinnamon and rose, The midnight calm seemed waiting, Too fateful for repose.

One joined me on the Rice-boat With wild and waving hair, Whose vivid words and laughter Awoke the silent air.

Oh, beauty, bare and shining, Fresh washen in the bay, One well may love by moonlight What one would not love by day!

Above among the cordage The night wind hardly stirred, The lapping of the ripples Was all the sound we heard.

Love reigned upon the Rice-boat, And Peace controlled the sea, The spirit's consolation, The senses' ecstasy.

Though many things and mighty Are furthered in the West, The ancient Peace has vanished Before To-day's unrest.

For how among their striving, Their gold, their l.u.s.t, their drink, Shall men find time for dreaming Or any s.p.a.ce to think?

Think not I scorn the Science That lightens human pain; Though man's reliance often Is placed on it in vain.

Maybe the long endeavour, The patience and the strife, May some day solve the riddle, The Mystery of Life.

Perchance I do not value Things Western as I ought, The trains,--that take us, whither?

The ships,--that reach, what port?

To me it seems but chaos Of greed and haste and rage, The endless, aimless, motion Of squirrels in a cage.

Here, where some ruined temple In solitude decays, With carven walls still hallowed With prayers of bygone days, Here, where the coral outcrops Make "flowers of the sea,"

The olden Peace yet lingers, In hushed serenity.

Ah, silent, silver moonlight, Whose charm impartial falls On tanks of sacred water And squalid city walls, Whose mystic whiteness hallows The lowest and the least, To thee men owe the glamour That draws them to the East.

And as this azure water, Unflecked hy wave or foam, Conceals in its tranquillity The dreaded white shark's home, So if love be illusion I ask the dream to stay, Content to love by moonlight What I might not love by day.