Kashmiri Song
Pale hands I love beside the Shalimar, Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell? Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway, far, Before you agonise them in farewell?
Oh, pale dispensers of my Joys and Pains, Holding the doors of Heaven and of Hell, How the hot blood rushed wildly through the veins Beneath your touch, until you waved farewell.
Pale hands, pink tipped, like Lotus buds that float On those cool waters where we used to dwell, I would have rather felt you round my throat, Crushing out life, than waving me farewell!
Reverie of Ormuz the Persian
Softly the feathery Palm-trees fade in the violet Distance, Faintly the lingering light touches the edge of the sea, Sadly the Music of Waves, drifts, faint as an Anthem's insistence, Heard in the aisles of a dream, over the sandhills, to me.
Now that the Lights are reversed, and the Singing changed into sighing, Now that the wings of our fierce, fugitive passion are furled, Take I unto myself, all alone in the light that is dying, Much of the sorrow that lies hid at the Heart of the World.
Sad am I, sad for your loss: for failing the charm of your presence, Even the sunshine has paled, leaving the Zenith less blue. Even the ocean lessens the light of its green opalescence, Since, to my sorrow I loved, loved and grew weary of, you.
Why was our passion so fleeting, why had the flush of your beauty Only so slender a spell, only so futile a power? Yet, even thus ever is life, save when long custom or duty Moulds into sober fruit Love's fragile and fugitive flower.
Fain would my soul have been faithful; never an alien pleasure Lured me away from the light lit in your luminous eyes, But we have altered the World as pitiful man has leisure To criticise, balance, take counsel, assuredly lies.
All through the centuries Man has gathered his flower, and fenced it, --Infinite strife to attain; infinite struggle to keep,-- Holding his treasure awhile, all Fate and all forces against it, Knowing it his no more, if ever his vigilance sleep.
But we have altered the World as pitiful man has grown stronger, So that the things we love are as easily kept as won, Therefore the ancient fight can engage and detain us no longer, And all too swiftly, alas, passion is over and done.
Far too speedily now we can gather the coveted treasure, Enjoy it awhile, be satiated, begin to tire; And what shall be done henceforth with the profitless after-leisure, Who has the breath to kindle the ash of a faded fire?
Ah, if it only had lasted! After my ardent endeavour Came the delirious Joy, flooding my life like a sea, Days of delight that are burnt on the brain for ever and ever, Days and nights when you loved, before you grew weary of me.
Softly the sunset decreases dim in the violet Distance, Even as Love's own fervour has faded away from me, Leaving the weariness, the monotonous Weight of Existence,-- All the farewells in the world weep in the sound of the sea.
Sunstroke
Oh, straight, white road that runs to meet, Across green fields, the blue green sea, You knew the little weary feet Of my child bride that was to be!
Her people brought her from the shore One golden day in sultry June, And I stood, waiting, at the door, Praying my eyes might see her soon.
With eager arms, wide open thrown, Now never to be satisfied! Ere I could make my love my own She closed her amber eyes and died.
Alas! alas! they took no heed How frail she was, my little one, But brought her here with cruel speed Beneath the fierce, relentless sun.
We laid her on the marriage bed The bridal flowers in her hand, A maiden from the ocean led Only, alas! to die inland.
I walk alone; the air is sweet, The white road wanders to the sea, I dream of those two little feet That grew so tired in reaching me.
Adoration
Who does not feel desire unending To solace through his daily strife, With some mysterious Mental Blending, The hungry loneliness of life?
Until, by sudden passion shaken, As terriers shake a rat at play, He finds, all blindly, he has taken The old, Hereditary way.
Yet, in the moment of communion, The very heart of passion's fire, His spirit spurns the mortal union, "Not this, not this, the Soul's desire!"
* * * *
Oh You, by whom my life is riven, And reft away from my control, Take back the hours of passion given! Love me one moment from your soul.
Although I once, in ardent fashion, Implored you long to give me this; (In hopes to stem, or stifle, passion) Your hair to touch, your lips to kiss
Now that your gracious self has granted The loveliness you hold as naught, I find, alas! not that I wanted-- Possession has not stifled Thought.
Desire its aim has only shifted,-- Built hopes upon another plan, And I in love for you have drifted Beyond all passion known to man.
Beyond all dreams of soft caresses The solacing of any kiss,-- Beyond the fragrance of your tresses (Once I had sold my soul for this!)
But now I crave no mortal union (Thanks for that sweetness in the past); I need some subtle, strange communion, Some sense that _I_ join _you_, at last.
Long past the pulse and pain of passion, Long left the limits of all love,-- I crave some nearer, fuller fashion, Some unknown way, beyond, above,--
Some infinitely inner fusion, As Wave with Water; Flame with Fire,-- Let me dream once the dear delusion That I am You, Oh, Heart's Desire!
Your kindness lent to my caresses That beauty you so lightly prize,-- The midnight of your sable tresses, The twilight of your shadowed eyes.
Ah, for that gift all thanks are given! Yet, Oh, adored, beyond control, Count all the passionate past forgiven And love me once, once, from your soul.
Three Songs of Zahir-u-Din
The tropic day's redundant charms Cool twilight soothes away, The sun slips down behind the palms And leaves the landscape grey. I want to take you in my arms And kiss your lips away!
I wake with sunshine in my eyes And find the morning blue, A night of dreams behind me lies And all were dreams of you! Ah, how I wish the while I rise, That what I dream were true.
The weary day's laborious pace, I hasten and beguile By fancies, which I backwards trace To things I loved erstwhile; The weary sweetness of your face, Your faint, illusive smile.
The silken softness of your hair Where faint bronze shadows are, Your strangely slight and youthful air, No passions seem to mar,-- Oh, why, since Fate has made you fair, Must Fortune keep you far?
Thus spent, the day so long and bright Less hot and brilliant seems, Till in a final flare of light The sun withdraws his beams. Then, in the coolness of the night, I meet you in my dreams!
Second Song
How much I loved that way you had Of smiling most, when very sad, A smile which carried tender hints Of delicate tints And warbling birds, Of sun and spring, And yet, more than all other thing, Of Weariness beyond all Words!
None other ever smiled that way, None that I know,-- The essence of all Gaiety lay, Of all mad mirth that men may know, In that sad smile, serene and slow, That on your lips was wont to play.
It needed many delicate lines And subtle curves and roseate tints To make that weary radiant smile; It flickered, as beneath the vines The sunshine through green shadow glints On the pale path that lies below, Flickered and flashed, and died away, But the strange thoughts it woke meanwhile Were wont to stay.
Thoughts of Strange Things you used to know In dim, dead lives, lived long ago, Some madly mirthful Merriment Whose lingering light is yet unspent,-- Some unimaginable Woe,-- Your strange, sad smile forgets these not, Though you, yourself, long since, forgot!
Third Song, written during Fever
To-night the clouds hang very low, They take the Hill-tops to their breast, And lay their arms about the fields. The wind that fans me lying low, Restless with great desire for rest, No cooling touch of freshness yields.
I, sleepless through the stifling heat, Watch the pale Lightning's constant glow Between the wide set open doors. I lie and long amidst the heat,-- The fever that my senses know, For that cool slenderness of yours.
So delicate and cool you are! A roseleaf that has lain in snow, A snowflake tinged with sunset fire. You do not know, so young you are, How Fever fans the senses' glow To uncontrollable desire!