But as her lips met his she paused, in terror and dismay, The white moon showed her by her side asleep a Leper lay.
"Ah, Moghra flowers, white Moghra flowers, All love is blind, they say; The Moghra flowers, so sweet, so sweet, Though love be burnt away!"
Valgovind's Song in the Spring
The Temple bells are ringing, The young green corn is springing, And the marriage month is drawing very near.
I lie hidden in the grass, And I count the moments pass, For the month of marriages is drawing near.
Soon, ah, soon, the women spread The appointed bridal bed With hibiscus buds and crimson marriage flowers,
Where, when all the songs are done, And the dear dark night begun, I shall hold her in my happy arms for hours.
She is young and very sweet, From the silver on her feet To the silver and the flowers in her hair, And her beauty makes me swoon, As the Moghra trees at noon Intoxicate the hot and quivering air.
Ah, I would the hours were fleet As her silver circled feet, I am weary of the daytime and the night; I am weary unto death, Oh my rose with jasmin breath, With this longing for your beauty and your light.
Youth
I am not sure if I knew the truth What his case or crime might be, I only know that he pleaded Youth, A beautiful, golden plea!
Youth, with its sunlit, passionate eyes, Its roseate velvet skin-- A plea to cancel a thousand lies, Or a thousand nights of sin.
The men who judged him were old and grey Their eyes and their senses dim, He brought the light of a warm Spring day To the Court-house bare and grim.
Could he plead guilty in a lovelier way? His judges acquitted him.
When Love is Over
Song of Khan Zada
Only in August my heart was aflame, Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair, Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep Through the night, I should hardly care.
Only last August I drank that water Because it had chanced to cool your hands; When love is over, how little of love Even the lover understands!
"Golden Eyes"
Oh Amber Eyes, oh Golden Eyes! Oh Eyes so softly gay! Wherein swift fancies fall and rise, Grow dark and fade away. Eyes like a little limpid pool That holds a sunset sky, While on its surface, calm and cool, Blue water lilies lie.
Oh Tender Eyes, oh Wistful Eyes, You smiled on me one day, And all my life, in glad surprise, Leapt up and pleaded "Stay!" Alas, oh cruel, starlike eyes, So grave and yet so gay, You went to lighten other skies, Smiled once and passed away.
Oh, you whom I name "Golden Eyes," Perhaps I used to know Your beauty under other skies In lives lived long ago. Perhaps I rowed with galley slaves, Whose labour never ceased, To bring across Phoenician waves Your treasure from the East.
Maybe you were an Emperor then And I a favourite slave; Some youth, whom from the lions' den You vainly tried to save! Maybe I reigned, a mighty King, The early nations knew, And you were some slight captive thing, Some maiden whom I slew.
Perhaps, adrift on desert shores Beside some shipwrecked prow, I gladly gave my life for yours. Would I might give it now! Or on some sacrificial stone Strange Gods we satisfied, Perhaps you stooped and left a throne To kiss me ere I died.
Perhaps, still further back than this, In times ere men were men, You granted me a moment's bliss In some dark desert den, When, with your amber eyes alight With iridescent flame, And fierce desire for love's delight, Towards my lair you came
Ah laughing, ever-brilliant eyes, These things men may not know, But something in your radiance lies, That, centuries ago, Lit up my life in one wild blaze Of infinite desire To revel in your golden rays, Or in your light expire.
If this, oh Strange Ringed Eyes, be true, That through all changing lives This longing love I have for you Eternally survives, May I not sometimes dare to dream In some far time to be Your softly golden eyes may gleam Responsively on me?
Ah gentle, subtly changing eyes, You smiled on me one day, And all my life in glad surprise Leaped up, imploring "Stay!" Alas, alas, oh Golden Eyes, So cruel and so gay, You went to shine in other skies, Smiled once and passed away.
Kotri, by the River
At Kotri, by the river, when the evening's sun is low, The waving palm trees quiver, the golden waters glow, The shining ripples shiver, descending to the sea; At Kotri, by the river, she used to wait for me.
So young, she was, and slender, so pale with wistful eyes As luminous and tender as Kotri's twilight skies. Her face broke into flowers, red flowers at the mouth, Her voice,--she sang for hours like bulbuls in the south.
We sat beside the water through burning summer days, And many things I taught her of Life and all its ways Of Love, man's loveliest duty, of Passion's reckless pain, Of Youth, whose transient beauty comes once, but not again.
She lay and laughed and listened beside the water's edge. The glancing river glistened and glinted through the sedge. Green parrots flew above her and, as the daylight died, Her young arms drew her lover more closely to her side.
Oh days so warm and golden! oh nights so cool and still! When Love would not be holden, and Pleasure had his will. Days, when in after leisure, content to rest we lay, Nights, when her lips' soft pressure drained all my life away.
And while we sat together, beneath the Babul trees, The fragrant, sultry weather cooled by the river breeze, If passion faltered ever, and left the senses free, We heard the tireless river decending to the sea.
I know not where she wandered, or went in after days, Or if her youth she squandered in Love's more doubtful ways. Perhaps, beside the river, she died, still young and fair; Perchance the grasses quiver above her slumber there.
At Kotri, by the river, maybe I too shall sleep The sleep that lasts for ever, too deep for dreams; too deep. Maybe among the shingle and sand of floods to be Her dust and mine may mingle and float away to sea.
Ah Kotri, by the river, when evening's sun is low, Your faint reflections quiver, your golden ripples glow. You knew, oh Kotri river, that love which could not last. For me your palms still shiver with passions of the past.
Farewell
Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you Against my heart for any length of days. I had no loveliness, alas, to hold you, No siren voice, no charm that lovers praise.
Yet, in the midst of grief and desolation, Solace I my despairing soul with this: Once, for my life's eternal consolation, You lent my lips your loveliness to kiss.
Ah, that one night! I think Love's very essence Distilled itself from out my joy and pain, Like tropical trees, whose fervid inflorescence Glows, gleams, and dies, never to bloom again.
Often I marvel how I met the morning With living eyes after that night with you, Ah, how I cursed the wan, white light for dawning, And mourned the paling stars, as each withdrew!
Yet I, even I, who am less than dust before you, Less than the lowest lintel of your door, Was given one breathless midnight, to adore you. Fate, having granted this, can give no more!
Afridi Love
Since, Oh, Beloved, you are not even faithful To me, who loved you so, for one short night, For one brief space of darkness, though my absence Did but endure until the dawning light;
Since all your beauty--which was _mine_--you squandered On _that_ which now lies dead across your door; See here this knife, made keen and bright to kill you. You shall not see the sun rise any more.
Lie still! Lie still! In all the empty village Who is there left to hear or heed your cry? All are gone to labour in the valley, Who will return before your time to die?
No use to struggle; when I found you sleeping, I took your hands and bound them to your side, And both these slender feet, too apt at straying, Down to the cot on which you lie are tied.
Lie still, Beloved; that dead thing lying yonder, I hated and I killed, but love is sweet, And you are more than sweet to me, who love you, Who decked my eyes with dust from off your feet.
Give me your lips; Ah, lovely and disloyal Give me yourself again; before you go Down through the darkness of the Great, Blind Portal, All of life's best and basest you must know.
Erstwhile Beloved, you were so young and fragile I held you gently, as one holds a flower: But now, God knows, what use to still be tender To one whose life is done within an hour?