The Garden of Bright Waters Part 6

A CONCEIT

I hide my love, I will not say her name.

And yet since I confess I love, her name is told.

You know that if I love It must be ... Whom?

_From the Arabic of Ebn Kalakis Abu El Fath Nasrallah (eleventh century)._

VALUES

Since there is excitement In suffering for a woman, Let him burn on.

The dust in a wolf's eyes Is balm of flowers to the wolf When a flock of sheep has raised it.

_From the Arabic._

WHAT LOVE IS

Love starts with a little throb in the heart, And in the end one dies Like an ill-treated toy.

Love is born in a look or in four words, The little spark that burnt the whole house.

Love is at first a look, And then a smile, And then a word, And then a promise, And then a meeting of two among flowers.

_From the Arabic._

THE DANCING HEART

When she came she said: You know that your love is granted, Why is your heart trembling?

And I: You are bringing joy for my heart And so my heart is dancing.

_From the Arabic of Urak El Hutail._

THE GREAT OFFENCE

She seemed so bored, I wanted to embrace her by surprise; But then the scalding waters Fell from her eyes and burnt her roses.

I offered her a cup....

And came to paradise....

Ah, sorrow, When she rose from the waves of wine I thought she would have killed me With the swords of her desolation....

Especially as I had tied her girdle With the wrong bow.

_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._

AN ESCAPE

She was beautiful that evening and so gay....

In little games My hand had slipped her mantle, I am not sure About her skirts.

Then in the night's curtain of shadows, Heavy and discreet, I asked and she replied: To-morrow.

Next day I came Saying, Remember.

Words of a night, she said, to bring the day.

_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._

THREE QUEENS

Three sweet drivers hold the reins, And hold the places of my heart.

A great people obeys me, But these three obey me not.

Am I then a lesser king than love?

_From the Arabic of Haroun El Raschid (eighth century)._

HER NAILS

She is as wise as Hippocrates, As beautiful as Joseph, As sweet-voiced as David, As pure as Mary.

I am as sad as Jacob, As lonely as Jonah, As patient as Job, As unfortunate as Adam.

When I met her again And saw her nails Prettily purpled, I reproached her for making up When I was not there.

She told me gently That she was no coquette, But had wept tears of blood Because I was not there, And maybe she had dried her eyes With her little hands.

I would like to have wept before she wept; But she wept first And has the better love.

Her eyes are long eyes, And her brows are the bows of subtle strong men.

_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._