Happy; for even when the rope Confined his neck, his thoughts were free, And centered round his Secret Hope The little life that was to be.
When Poppies bloomed again, she bore His child who gaily laughed and crowed, While round his tiny neck he wore The rubies given on the road.
For his small sake she wished to wait, But vainly to forget she tried, And grieving for the Prisoner's fate, She broke her gentle heart and died.
Song of Taj Mahomed
Dear is my inlaid sword; across the Border It brought me much reward; dear is my Mistress, The jewelled treasure of an amorous hour. Dear beyond measure are my dreams and Fancies.
These I adore; for these I live and labour, Holding them more than sword or jewelled Mistress, For this indeed may rust, and that prove faithless, But, till my limbs are dust, I have my Fancies.
The Garden of Kama:
Kama the Indian Eros
The daylight is dying, The Flying fox flying, Amber and amethyst burn in the sky. See, the sun throws a late, Lingering, roseate Kiss to the landscape to bid it good-bye.
The time of our Trysting! Oh, come, unresisting, Lovely, expectant, on tentative feet. Shadow shall cover us, Roses bend over us, Making a bride chamber, sacred and sweet.
We know not life's reason, The length of its season, Know not if they know, the great Ones above. We none of us sought it, And few could support it, Were it not gilt with the glamour of love.
But much is forgiven To Gods who have given, If but for an hour, the Rapture of Youth. You do not yet know it, But Kama shall show it, Changing your dreams to his Exquisite Truth.
The Fireflies shall light you, And naught shall afright you, Nothing shall trouble the Flight of the Hours. Come, for I wait for you, Night is too late for you, Come, while the twilight is closing the flowers.
Every breeze still is, And, scented with lilies, Cooled by the twilight, refreshed by the dew, The garden lies breathless, Where Kama, the Deathless, In the hushed starlight, is waiting for you.
Camp Follower's Song, Gomal River
We have left Gul Kach behind us, Are marching on Apozai,-- Where pleasure and rest are waiting To welcome us by and by.
We're falling back from the Gomal, Across the Gir-dao plain, The camping ground is deserted, We'll never come back again.
Along the rocks and the defiles, The mules and the camels wind. Good-bye to Rahimut-Ullah, The man who is left behind.
For some we lost in the skirmish, And some were killed in the fight, But he was captured by fever, In the sentry pit, at night.
A rifle shot had been swifter, Less trouble a sabre thrust, But his Fate decided fever, And each man dies as he must.
Behind us, red in the distance. The wavering flames rise high, The flames of our burning grass-huts, Against the black of the sky.
We hear the sound of the river, An ever-lessening moan, The hearts of us all turn backwards To where he is left alone.
We sing up a little louder, We know that we feel bereft, We're leaving the camp together, And only one of us left.
The only one, out of many, And each must come to his end, I wish I could stop this singing, He happened to be my friend.
We're falling back from the Gomal We're marching on Apozai, And pleasure and rest are waiting To welcome us by and by.
Perhaps the feast will taste bitter, The lips of the girls less kind,-- Because of Rahimut-Ullah, The man who is left behind!
Song of the Colours: by Taj Mahomed
_Rose-colour_ Rose Pink am I, the colour gleams and glows In many a flower; her lips, those tender doors By which, in time of love, love's essence flows From him to her, are dyed in delicate Rose. Mine is the earliest Ruby light that pours Out of the East, when day's white gates unclose.
On downy peach, and maiden's downier cheek I, in a flush of radiant bloom, alight, Clinging, at sunset, to the shimmering peak I veil its snow in floods of Roseate light.
_Azure_ Mine is the heavenly hue of Azure skies, Where the white clouds lie soft as seraphs' wings, Mine the sweet, shadowed light in innocent eyes, Whose lovely looks light only on lovely things.
Mine the Blue Distance, delicate and clear, Mine the Blue Glory of the morning sea, All that the soul so longs for, finds not here, Fond eyes deceive themselves, and find in me.
_Scarlet_ Hail! to the Royal Red of living Blood, Let loose by steel in spirit-freeing flood, Forced from faint forms, by toil or torture torn Staining the patient gates of life new born.
Colour of War and Rage, of Pomp and Show, Banners that flash, red flags that flaunt and glow, Colour of Carnage, Glory, also Shame, Raiment of women women may not name.
I hide in mines, where unborn Rubies dwell, Flicker and flare in fitful fire in Hell, The outpressed life-blood of the grape is mine, Hail! to the Royal Purple Red of Wine.
Strong am I, over strong, to eyes that tire, In the hot hue of Rapine, Riot, Flame. Death and Despair are black, War and Desire, The two red cards in Life's unequal game.
_Green_ I am the Life of Forests, and Wandering Streams, Green as the feathery reeds the Florican love, Young as a maiden, who of her marriage dreams, Still sweetly inexperienced in ways of Love.
Colour of Youth and Hope, some waves are mine, Some emerald reaches of the evening sky. See, in the Spring, my sweet green Promise shine, Never to be fulfilled, of by and by.
Never to be fulfilled; leaves bud, and ever Something is wanting, something falls behind; The flowered Solstice comes indeed, but never That light and lovely summer men divined.
_Violet_ I were the colour of Things, (if hue they had) That are hard to name. Of curious, twisted thoughts that men call "mad" Or oftener "shame." Of that delicate vice, that is hardly vice, So reticent, rare, Ethereal, as the scent of buds and spice, In this Eastern air.
On palm-fringed shores I colour the Cowrie shell, With its edges curled; And, deep in Datura poison buds, I dwell In a perfumed world. My lilac tinges the edge of the evening sky Where the sunset clings. My purple lends an Imperial Majesty To the robes of kings.
_Yellow_ Gold am I, and for me, ever men curse and pray, Selling their souls and each other, by night and day. A sordid colour, and yet, I make some things fair, Dying sunsets, fields of corn, and a maiden's hair.
Thus they discoursed in the daytime,--Violet, Yellow, and Blue, Emerald, Scarlet, and Rose-colour, the pink and perfect hue. Thus they spoke in the sunshine, when their beauty was manifest, Till the Night came, and the Silence, and gave them an equal rest.
Lalila, to the Ferengi Lover
Why above others was I so blessed And honoured? to be chosen one To hold you, sleeping, against my breast, As now I may hold your only son.
Twelve months ago; that wonderful night! You gave your life to me in a kiss; Have I done well, for that past delight, In return, to have given you this?
Look down at his face, your face, beloved, His eyes are azure as yours are blue. In every line of his form is proved How well I loved you, and only you.
I felt the secret hope at my heart Turned suddenly to the living joy, And knew that your life and mine had part As golden grains in a brass alloy.
And learning thus, that your child was mine, Thrilled by the sense of its stirring life, I held myself as a sacred shrine Afar from pleasure, and pain, and strife,
That all unworthy I might not be Of that you had deigned to cause to dwell Hidden away in the heart of me, As white pearls hide in a dusky shell.
Do you remember, when first you laid Your lips on mine, that enchanted night? My eyes were timid, my lips afraid, You seemed so slender and strangely white.
I always tremble; the moments flew Swiftly to dawn that took you away, But this is a small and lovely you Content to rest in my arms all day.
Oh, since you have sought me, Lord, for this, And given your only child to me, My life devoted to yours and his, Whilst I am living, will always be.
And after death, through the long To Be, (Which, I think, must surely keep love's laws,) I, should you chance to have need of me, Am ever and always, only yours.
On the City Wall
Upon the City Ramparts, lit up by sunset gleam, The Blue eyes that conquer, meet the Darker eyes that dream.