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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11266 ***
+
+SONNETS
+
+BY THE
+
+NAWAB NIZAMAT JUNG BAHADUR
+
+
+"_Love is not discoverable by the eye, but only by the soul. Its
+elements are indeed innate in our mortal constitution, and we
+give it the names of Joy and Aphrodite; but in its highest nature no
+mortal hath fully comprehended it_."
+
+EMPEDOCLES.
+
+
+"_Every one choose the object of his affections according to his
+character.... The Divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and by these the
+wings of the soul are nourished_."
+
+PLATO.
+
+
+
+
+1917
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+         FOREWORD, BY R.C. FRASER
+         NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
+         PROLOGUE
+      I. REBIRTH
+     II. THE CROWN OF LIFE
+    III. BEFORE THE THRONE
+     IV. WORSHIP
+      V. UNITY
+     VI. LOVE'S SILENCE
+    VII. THE SUBLIME HOPE
+   VIII. THE HEART OF LOVE
+     IX. "'TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
+      X. THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
+     XI. IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
+    XII. ETERNAL JOY
+   XIII. CONSTANCY
+    XIV. CALM AFTER STORM
+     XV. THE STAR OF LOVE
+    XVI. IMPRISONED MUSIC
+   XVII. LOVE'S MESSAGE
+  XVIII. ECSTASY
+    XIX. THE DREAM
+     XX. ETHEREAL BEAUTY
+    XXI. A CROWN OF THORNS
+   XXII. TWO HEARTS IN ONE
+  XXIII. YEARNING
+   XXIV. LOVE'S GIFT
+         EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+BY RICHARD CHARLES FRASER
+
+
+The following Sonnet Sequence,--written during rare intervals of leisure
+in a busy and strenuous life,--was privately printed in Madras early in
+1914, without any intention of publication on the part of the author. He
+has, however, now consented to allow it to be given to a wider audience;
+and we anticipate in many directions a welcome for this small but
+significant volume by the writer of _India to England_, one of the most
+popular and often-quoted lyrics evoked by the Great War.
+
+The Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur, was born in the State of Hyderabad, but
+educated in England; and there are some--at Cambridge and elsewhere--who
+will remember his keenly discriminating interest in British history and
+literature, and the comprehensive way he, in a few words, would indicate
+his impressions of poets and heroes, long dead, but to him ever-living.
+
+His appreciation was both ardent and just; he could swiftly recognise
+the nobler elements in characters which at first glance might seem
+startlingly dissimilar; and he could pass without apparent effort from
+study of the lives of men of action to the inward contemplations of
+abstruse philosophers.
+
+To those who have not met him, it may appear paradoxical to say that his
+tastes were at the same moment acutely fastidious and widely
+sympathetic; but anyone who has talked with him will recall the blend of
+high impersonal ideas with a remarkable personality which seldom failed
+to stimulate other minds--even if those others shared few if any of his
+intellectual tastes.
+
+A famous British General (still living) was once asked, "What is the
+most essential quality for a great leader of men?" And he replied in one
+word "SYMPATHY." The General was speaking of leadership in relation to
+warfare; and by "Sympathy" he meant swift insight into the minds of
+others; and, with this insight, the power to arouse and fan into a flame
+the spark of chivalry and true nobility in each. The career of the Nawab
+Nizamat Jung has not been set in the world of action,--he is at present
+a Judge of the High Court in Hyderabad,--but nevertheless this
+definition of sympathy is not irrelevant, for the Nawab's personal
+influence has been more subtle and far-reaching than he himself is yet
+aware. His love of poetry and history, if on the one hand it has
+intensified his realisation of the sorrows and tragedies of earthly
+life, on the other hand has equipped him with a power to awake in others
+a vivid consciousness of the moral value of literature,--through which
+(for the mere asking) we any of us can find our way into a kingdom of
+great ideas. This kingdom is also the kingdom of eternal realities--or
+so at least it should be; and those who in the early nineties in England
+talked with Nizamoudhin (as he then was) could scarcely fail to notice
+that he valued the genius of an author, or the exploits of a character
+in history, chiefly in proportion to the permanent and vital nature of
+the truths this character had laboured to express--whether in words or
+action.
+
+But Truth, has many faces; and scarcely any poet (except perhaps
+Shakespeare) has come within measurable distance of expressing every
+aspect of the human character. The Nawab could take pleasure in reading
+poets as temperamentally dissimilar as Shelley and Scott, Spenser and
+Byron,--to name only a few. Shelley, who was a spirit utterly unable to
+understand this world or ordinary homespun human nature; and Scott, who
+not only comprehended both without an effort, but who combined the
+practical and the romantic elements successfully in his own life, A
+devotion to Spenser, "the poet's poet," the poet of a dreamy yet very
+real and living chivalry,--Spenser who used to forget himself in his
+creations,--did not prevent the Nawab from understanding Byron, who
+never could forget himself at all; and who, with all his vivid impulses
+of generous sympathy for the oppressed, is nevertheless generally
+classed to-day as a colossal egoist. (Unjustly so, for no mere egoist
+would have toiled as he toiled for Greek emancipation, in the
+nerve-racking campaign which cost him his life.)
+
+In _India to England_--most characteristic of the war poems of Nizamat
+Jung--we see traces of the influence of more than one of the English
+poets he has read so lovingly. But the poem is none the less poignantly
+personal. The same may be said of the Sonnets here prefaced; for
+although they are related to the sonnets of earlier poets whose work
+must be familiar to the writer, yet they are in no sense imitations, nor
+are they echoes.
+
+"_Poetry is the natural language of strong emotion_," the Nawab said many
+years ago;--and if it may be asked why, holding this view, he has chosen
+such an elaborate (and, some people might add, artificial) form as the
+Sonnet, we can only answer that when an emotion or conviction is
+deep-seated and permanent, it becomes clarified, concentrated, and
+intensified under the stern discipline of compression within the
+arbitrary yet expressive limitations of a sonnet.[A]
+
+One of the main reasons why the Nawab's friends have urged the
+publication of his Sonnets, is that despite occasional imperfections (of
+which he himself is conscious), they form a consistent whole, and in
+their spirit and sentiment they are akin to some of the most noble
+utterances of the great minds and hearts whose words have been like
+torches to show what heights a strong aspiring soul can climb.
+
+"_The Will is the master. Imagination the tool, and the body the plastic
+material_," said a famous physician, who was also a practical man of the
+world;--and the poet who identifies his will and imagination with the
+eternal truths, who looks up to the stars instead of down into the mud,
+may always, even in his weariest hours, cheer himself by mental
+companionship with the other resolute souls whose pens have been used as
+swords in the service of Divine Beauty.
+
+Of all the most famous writers of Sonnets, it is Michelangelo whose
+words come back most vividly to memory as we read the Nawab's
+expressions of faith.
+
+  "_Love wakes the soul and gives it wings to fly_."
+
+
+  "_All beauty that to human sight is given
+  Is but the shadow, if we rightly see,
+  Of Him from Whom man's spirit issueth_."
+
+
+  "_As heat from fire, my love from the ideal
+  Is parted never_."
+
+
+  "_Oh noble spirit, noble semblance taking,
+  We mirrored in Thy mortal beauty see
+  What Heaven and earth achieve in harmony_."
+
+Thus wrote Michelangelo of Vittoria Colonna (Marchioness of Pescara),
+"being enamoured of her divine spirit";[B] and though in the Sonnets of
+the Nawab, who uses what is for him a foreign tongue, the ideal is
+sometimes greater than the expression of it, yet the spirit shines out
+with a light which none can mistake. And whether the average man accepts
+or rejects the standards therein embodied, lovers of poetry will
+recognise that the Nawab, in his championship of a high and noble ideal,
+fights in the same army as Dante and Michelangelo,--neither of them
+cloistered dreamers, neither of them arm-chair theorists, but men who
+lived and loved and suffered amidst the turmoil of a world they viewed
+with wide-open eyes and unflinching minds.
+
+The chivalrous ideal of an exalted and inspiring love can be rejected if
+we please;--but let none claim to be manly because this ideal seems too
+ethereal. For it is by the most vigorous, most strenuous, and most
+commanding souls and minds that this faith in the Eternal Beauty has
+been cherished and upheld most ardently and resolutely.
+
+_September 29, 1917_.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[A] See "Note on the History of the Sonnet in English Literature," below.
+
+[B] Ascanio Condivi's "Life of Michelangelo Buonarroti."
+
+
+
+
+NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
+
+
+Now that Italy holds such a brilliant place among our Allies during this
+the greatest war in the world's history--the war of chivalry (which is
+to say moral and spiritual right) against the arrogant might of the
+Prussian Octopus,--it is well to remember that it was from Italy the
+Sonnet first came into England. The word _sonnet_ in fact, is from the
+Italian _sonetto_ (literally "a little sound"), and the _sonetto_ was
+originally a short poem recited or sung to the accompaniment of music,
+probably the lute or mandolin.
+
+Whether its birth should be attributed to Italy or Sicily,--or to
+Provence, the cradle of troubadour poetry,--is a subject on which the
+learned may still indulge in pleasant controversies. But in Italy,
+towards the end of the thirteenth century, it had already become a
+favourite mode of expression; and some forty years later, in a
+manuscript treatise on the _Poetica Volgare_ (written in 1332 by a Judge
+in Padua), sixteen different forms of sonnet were enumerated as then in
+current use.
+
+But despite the continued vogue of the Sonnet, and its association with
+the names of such masters as Dante, Petrarch, Tasso and Michelangelo in
+Italy; Ronsard in France; Camoens in Portugal; Shakespeare, Milton,
+Wordsworth and Rossetti in England--to say nothing of a host of minor
+poets, who, though one star differeth from another in glory, yet
+constitute a brilliant galaxy--it is remarkable that even now the
+average non-literary reader when asked "What is a Sonnet?" seldom gives
+any more explicit reply than to say it is "a short poem limited to
+fourteen lines."
+
+The rules for the structure of those fourteen lines, and the labour and
+patience entailed in producing a poem under these limitations, are not
+always realised even by those who enjoy the results of the poet's
+concentrated efforts. The more successful a sonnet, the more the reader
+is apt to accept its beauty as if it had grown by a natural process like
+a flower. This, perhaps, is the best compliment we could pay the poet;
+but if the poet is one who boldly essays a most difficult and complex
+form, in a language which for him is foreign, then we should pause a
+moment to consider what it is that he has set out to accomplish.
+
+Taking the structure first (though for the poet the spirit and impetus
+of the central idea must of course come first)--a sonnet on the Italian
+(Petrarchan) model must consist of fourteen lines of ten syllables each,
+and must be composed of a major and minor system, i.e. an octave and a
+sestet.
+
+In the octave (the first eight lines) the first, fourth, fifth and
+eighth lines must rhyme on the same sound, and the second, third, sixth
+and seventh, must rhyme on another sound.
+
+In the sestet (the last six lines) more liberty of rhyme and arrangement
+is permitted, but a rhymed couplet at the end is not usual except when
+the sonnet departs from the Italian model and is on the English or, as
+we say, "Shakespearian" pattern.
+
+Each sonnet must be complete; and, even if one of a sequence, it should
+contain within itself everything necessary to the understanding of it.
+It must be the expression of _one_ emotion, _one_ fact, _one_ idea, and
+"the continuity of the thought, idea, or emotion must be unbroken
+throughout." "Dignity and repose," "expression ample yet reticent," are
+qualities which one of our ablest modern critics emphasises as
+essential, and the end must always be more impressive than the
+beginning,--the reader must be carried onwards and upwards, and left
+with a definite feeling that in what has been said there is neither
+superfluity nor omission, but rather a completeness which precludes all
+wish or need for a longer poem.
+
+How difficult this is for the poet can only be realised by trying to
+achieve it.
+
+The earliest writers of English sonnets were two very romantic and
+gallant men of action, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Henry Howard, Earl of
+Surrey,--both destined to brief brilliant lives and tragic deaths. They
+were followed by Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney and a host of Elizabethan
+poets, courtly and otherwise. But it is Shakespeare whose Sonnets
+(though not conforming to the Petrarchan model) show the most force and
+fire of any in our language until those of Milton.
+
+To analyse the variations of the Shakesperian, Spenserian and Miltonian
+forms is, however, unnecessary to our present purpose, as the Sonnet
+Sequence we are now prefacing is based on the Petrarchan model. Strictly
+speaking, the Petrarchan sestet (the last six lines) should have three
+separate rhymed sounds; the first and fourth lines, the second and
+fifth, and the third and sixth should form the three rhymes. But this
+rule is by no means invariably followed; even Wordsworth and Rossetti
+often rhymed the first with the third, and the second with the fourth
+lines; and sometimes used only two sounds,--the first, third, and fifth
+lines making one rhyme and the second, fourth, and sixth the other.
+
+As already said, these liberties are permitted, for the sestet is not
+under such arbitrary regulations as the octave.
+
+There are writers who keep all the rules, and yet leave their readers
+cold; and others who are technically less correct, but in whom the
+vigour and intensity of emotion is swiftly felt and silences adverse
+criticism. The ideal is to combine deep and exalted feeling with perfect
+expression, and produce a whole which goes to the heart like a beautiful
+piece of music, and satisfies the mind--like one of those ancient Greek
+gems which, in a small space, presents engraved images symbolic of
+sublime ideas vast as the universe.
+
+The Nawab Nizamat Jung has written in English several sonnets which we
+should admire even if English were his native language. But if any of us
+would like to form some estimate of the difficulties he has surmounted,
+let us sit down and try to express in a sonnet in _any_ foreign language
+our own thoughts and beliefs. We shall then the better appreciate what
+he has achieved.
+
+As, however, while the Great War lasts, few of us have leisure for
+literary experiments, it will perhaps be best to read these Sonnets
+primarily for their soul and spirit. In melody and expression they are
+of varying degrees of merit and completeness, but in the inspiring ideal
+they consistently embody they rise to heights which have been scaled
+only by the noblest. In tone and temper--as already said--they are akin
+to the Sonnets to Vittoria Colonna by Michelangelo,--of whom it was
+written by one who knew him well, "_Though I have held such long
+intercourse with him I have never heard from his mouth a word, that was
+not most honourable.... In him there are no base thoughts.... He loves
+not only human beauty, but everything that is beautiful and exquisite in
+its own kind,--marvelling at it with a wonderful admiration_."
+
+Here we see defined the temperament of the heroic poet, that inner
+nobility and exaltation without which mere technical skill can avail
+little in moving and holding the hearts of men.
+
+This note on the structure of the Sonnet would fail in its purpose if it
+distracted the reader from the spirit behind the form;--for the spirit
+is the life,--and few who read these Sonnets will deny that the spirit
+of Nizamat Jung is that of the true poet, ever striving to look beyond
+ephemeral sorrows up to the Eternal Beauty--now hidden behind a veil,
+but some day to be revealed in all its splendour and completeness.
+
+R.C.F.
+
+_October 6, 1917_.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+
+  As one who wanders lone and wearily
+  Through desert tracts of Silence and of Night,
+  Pining for Lovers keen utterance and for light,
+  And chasing shadowy forms that mock and flee,
+  My soul was wandering through Eternity,
+  Seeking, within the depth and on the height
+  Of Being, one with whom it might unite
+  In life and love and immortality;
+
+  When lo! she stood before me, whom I'd sought,
+  With dying hope, through life's decaying years--
+  A form, a spirit, human yet divine.
+  Love gave her eyes the light of heav'n, and taught
+  Her lips the mystic music of the spheres.
+  Our beings met,--I felt her soul in mine;
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+REBIRTH
+
+
+  To me no mortal but a spirit blest,
+  A Light-girt messenger of Love art thou--
+  The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow.
+  The thrice-pure fire of Love within thy breast!
+  Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest,
+  As God's fulfilment of the purest vow
+  Love's heart e'er made--thou com'st to show e'en _now_
+  The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best!
+
+  I clasp thy feet,--O fold me in thy wings,
+  And place thy pure white hands upon my head,
+  And breathe, O breathe, thy love-breath o'er mine eyes
+  Till, like the flame that from dark ashes springs,
+  My chastened spirit, from a self that's dead,
+  Upon the wings of Love shall heav'nward rise.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE CROWN OF LIFE
+
+
+  I know not what Love is,--a memory
+  Of Heav'n once known,--a yearning for some goal
+  That shines afar,--a dream that doth control
+  The spirit, shadowing forth what is to be.
+  But this I know, my heart hath found in thee
+  The crown of life, the glory of the soul,
+  The healing of all strife, the making whole
+  Of my imperfect being,--yea, of me!
+
+  For to mine eyes thine eyes, through Love, reveal
+  The smile of God; to me God's healing breath
+  Comes through thy hallowed lips whose pray'r is Love.
+  Thy touch gives life! And oh, let me but feel
+  Thy hovering hand my closing eyes above,--
+  Then, then, my soul will triumph over Death.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+BEFORE THE THRONE
+
+
+  When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes--
+  Eyes heavy-laden with the soul's desire,
+  Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire--
+  I have a vision of Love's Paradise.
+  Gazing, my trancèd spirit straightway flies
+  Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire;
+  I hear the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire
+  Around Immortal Love triumphant rise.
+
+  And there I kneel before th' eternal throne
+  Of Love, whose light conceals him,--there I see,
+  Veiled in his sacred light, a face well known
+  To me on earth, now, yearning, bend o'er me.
+  Heaven's mystic veil, inwove of light and tone,
+  Conceals thee not, Belovèd,--I know thee!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+WORSHIP
+
+
+  How poor is all my love, how great thy claim!
+  How weak the breath, the voice which would reveal
+  All that thy soul hath taught my soul to feel--
+  Longings profound,--deep thoughts without a name.
+  If God's self might be worshipped, without blame,
+  In His best works, then would I silent kneel
+  Watching thine eyes,--until my soul should steal
+  Back, unperceived, to regions whence it came!
+
+  If my whole life were but one thought of thee,
+  That thought the purest worship of my heart
+  And my soul's yearning blent; if at thy feet
+  I offered such a life, there still would be
+  Something to wish for,--something to complete
+  The measure of my love and thy desert.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+UNITY
+
+
+  When I approach thee, Love, I lay aside
+  All that is mortal in me; with a heart
+  Absolved and pure, and cleansed in every part
+  Of every thought that I might wish to hide
+  From God, I come,--fit spirit to abide
+  With such a soaring spirit as thou art,
+  Whose eye transfixes with a fiery dart
+  Presumptuous passion and ignoble pride.
+
+  Yea, thus I come to thee, and thus I dare
+  To gaze into thine eyes; I take thy hand,
+  And its soft touch upon my lips and eyes
+  Thrills thy pure being, while it lingers there,
+  Into my heart and soul;--and then we stand
+  Like the first two that loved in Paradise!
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+LOVE'S SILENCE
+
+
+  When through thine eyes the light of Heav'n doth shine
+  Upon my being, and thy whisper brings,
+  As the soft rustling of an angel's wings,
+  Joy to my soul and peace and grace divine;
+  When thus thy body and thy soul combine
+  To weave the mystic web thy beauty flings
+  Around my heart, whose thrilling silence rings
+  With Hope's unuttered songs that make thee mine,--
+
+  Ah, then, O Love! what need of words have we,
+  Who speak in feeling to each other's heart?
+  Words are too weak Love's message to impart,
+  Too frail to live through Love's eternity.
+  Silence, the voice of God, alone must be
+  Love's voice for thee, beloved as them art.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE SUBLIME HOPE
+
+
+  What need to tell thee o'er and o'er again
+  What eyes to eyes have spoken silently
+  And heart to heart hath uttered? Love must be
+  For us a hushed delight, a voiceless pain
+  Serenely borne! Our lips must ne'er profane
+  Our inmost feelings,--lest the sanctity
+  Of Love be lessened in our hearts and we
+  Nought higher than the common path attain!
+
+  The common path were death to us, whose love,
+  O'erruled by Fate, from earthly hopes debarred,
+  Must look to Heav'n for sublimer joys
+  Than those which earth can give, which earth destroys.
+  Our path is steep, but there is light above,
+  And Faith can make the roughest way less hard.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE HEART OF LOVE
+
+
+  Look in mine eyes, Belovèd,--for my tongue
+  Must never utter what my heart doth claim,--
+  And read Love there, for Love's forbidden name
+  Dies on my trembling lips unvoiced, unsung.
+  Nor sighs, nor tears--the bitter tribute wrung
+  From hearts of woe--must e'er that love proclaim
+  For which the world's unpitying heart would blame
+  Thy pity--though from purest fountains sprung.
+
+  Fate and the world, they bid wide oceans roll
+  Between our yearning hearts and their desire;
+  Yea, lips they silence, but can ne'er control
+  The heart of Love, nor quench its sacred fire.
+  I must not speak; O look into my soul--
+  There read the message which thou dost require!
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+"TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
+
+
+  Not here,--not here, where weak conventions mar
+  Life's hopes and joys, Love's beauty, truth and grace,
+  Must I come near thee, greet thee face to face,
+  Pour in thine ear the songs and sighs that are
+  My heart's best offerings. But in regions far,
+  Where Love's ethereal pinions may embrace
+  Beauty divine--in the clear interspace
+  Of twilight silence betwixt star and star,
+
+  And in the smiles of cloudless skies serene,
+  In Dawn's first blush and Sunset's lingering glow,
+  And in the glamour of the Moon's chaste beams--
+  My soul meets thine, and there thine image seen,
+  More real than life, doth to my lone heart show
+  Such charms as live in Memory's haunting dreams!
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
+
+
+  A time there was, when for thy beauty's prize--
+  Hadst thou but deemed my love that prize deserved--
+  What hope, what faith my daring heart had nerved
+  For proud achievement and for high emprize!
+  No Knight, that owned the spell of Beauty's eyes
+  And wore her sleeve upon his helm, had served
+  His vows with faith like mine; I ne'er had swerved
+  One jot from mine for all beneath the skies.
+
+  That time is dead, alas! and yet this heart
+  Is thine, still thine, with Love's high chivalry
+  And Faith that cannot die; but now its part
+  Must be a higher knighthood,--patiently
+  To brook life's ills, and, pierced with many a dart,
+  By sacrifice of self to merit thee.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
+
+
+  As when the Moon, emerging from a cloud,
+  Sheds on the dreary earth her gracious light,
+  A smile comes o'er the frowning brow of Night,
+  Who hastens to withdraw her sable shroud;
+  And then the lurking shadows' dark-robed crowd,
+  Pursued with glitt'ring shafts, is put to flight;
+  And, robed in silv'ry raiment, soft and bright
+  The humblest flower as a Queen seems proud;
+
+  So when thou com'st to me in Beauty's bloom,
+  And on thy face soft Pity's graces shine,
+  Thou can'st dispel the heavy shades of gloom
+  From my sad heart, which ceases then to pine;
+  And Hope and Joy their quenched beams relume
+  And gild the universe with light divine.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+ETERNAL JOY
+
+
+  Truth is but as the eye of God doth see;
+  And Love is truth, and Love hath made thee mine.
+  What though on earth our lives may not combine,
+  Love makes us one for all Eternity!
+  God gives us to each other, bids us be
+  Each other's soul's fulfilment, makes Love shine
+  Upon our souls as His own light divine.
+  An effluence of His own deity.
+
+  Why ask for more? Our union is above
+  All earthly unions, ours those heights serene
+  Where Love alone is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love--
+  Where never comes the world's harsh breath between
+  Hope's fruits and flow'rs. Ah, why then earthward move,
+  Where pure and perfect bliss hath never been?
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+CONSTANCY
+
+
+  Ah, Love, I know that to my love thou art,
+  And must be, in this life, a dream,--a name!
+  But be it joy or grief, or praise or blame,
+  I give thee all the worship of my heart.
+  'Tis not for Love to bid life's cares depart;
+  Love wings the soul for Heaven whence it came.
+  Such love from Petrarch's soul did Laura claim,
+  And Beatrice to Dante did impart.
+
+  To thee I turn,--be thou or near or far,
+  And whether on my love thou frown or smile,--
+  As, in mid-ocean, to some fairy isle
+  Palm-crowned; as, in the heav'ns, to eve's bright star
+  Whose pure white fire allures the vision, while
+  Myriads of paler lights unnoticed are!
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+CALM AFTER STORM
+
+
+  Thou hast but seen what but mine eyes have shown--
+  Mine eyes that gazing on thee picture Heaven;
+  Thou hast but heard what but my voice hath given--
+  My voice that takes from thine a calmer tone.
+  Ah! couldst thou know all that my heart hath known,
+  While with Despair's dark phantoms it hath striven--
+  From faith to doubt, from joy to sorrow driven,
+  Till rescued and redeemed by Love alone,--
+
+  Thou wouldst not marvel were my cloudless brow
+  O'er-clouded, were my aspect less serene!
+  Love smiles on Death, unveils his mystery
+  Of joy and grief, and Love bids me avow
+  This truth, with chastened heart and tranquil mien,--
+  'Less pure Love's bliss if less Love's agony.'
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+THE STAR OF LOVE
+
+
+  Time's cycle rolls--once more I hail the day
+  On which propitious Heaven sent to Earth,
+  Disguised in thy fair form, in mortal birth,
+  The Star of Love, whose pure celestial ray
+  Glides through the spirit's gloom and lights the way
+  To bliss! I hail thy coming 'midst the dearth
+  Of the soul's aspirations, when the worth
+  Of hearts like thine had ceased men's hearts to sway.
+
+  I greet thee, Love, and with thee scale the height,
+  That cloudless height where winged spirits rest:
+  Where the deep yearnings of the mortal breast,
+  From mortal bin set free, reveal to sight
+  That living Presence, that Eternal Light
+  In which enwrapt the eager soul is blest.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+IMPRISONED MUSIC
+
+
+  Oh, had I but the poet's voice to sing,
+  Then would the music prisoned in my heart
+  (Panting in vain its message to impart)
+  Hover around thee, Love, on trembling wing,
+  To tell thee of the soft-eyed hopes that cling
+  To Love's white feet, the doubts and fears that start
+  And pierce his bosom with a poisoned dart,--
+  The smiles that soothe, the cold hard looks that sting!
+
+  But 'tis not mine, the soaring joy of Song:
+  I strive to voice my soul, but strive in vain.
+  Though passion thrills, and eager fancies throng,
+  Deckt in the varying hues of joy and pain,
+  Yet the weak voice--as weak as Love is strong--
+  Dies murm'ring on Love's throbbing heart again.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+LOVE'S MESSAGE
+
+
+  We will not take Love's name; that little word,
+  By lips too oft profaned, we will not use.
+  From Nature's best and loveliest we will choose
+  Fit symbols for Love's message; like a bird,--
+  Whose warbled love-notes by its mate are heard
+  In greenwood glade,--shalt thou in strains profuse
+  The prisoned music of thy heart unloose,
+  While my heart's love is by sweet flow'rs averred.
+
+  Then take, O take these fresh-awakened flowers,
+  The symbols of my love, and keep them near,
+  Where they may feel thy breath and touch thy hand;
+  Then sing thy songs to me,--in silver showers
+  Pour forth, thine eager soul, and I shall hear;
+  Ah, thus will Love Love's message Understand!
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+ECSTASY
+
+
+  The Nightingale upon the Rose's breast
+  Warbling her tale of life-long sorrow lies,
+  Till in love's trancèd ecstasy her eyes
+  Close and her throbbing heart is set at rest;
+  For, to the yielding flow'r her bosom prest,
+  Death steals upon her in the sweet disguise
+  Of crownèd love and brings what life denies,--
+  mingling of the souls,--Love's eager quest!
+
+  Thus let my heart against thy heart repose,
+  Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh,
+  Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath;
+  Thus in love's languor let our eyelids close,
+  And let our blended souls enchanted lie,
+  And dream of joy beyond the gates of death.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+THE DREAM
+
+
+  Was it a dream, when, through the spirit's gloom,
+  I saw the yearning face of Beauty shine--
+  Soft in its human aspect, though divine,
+  Pleading for human love, though armed with doom?
+  And was it but a dream, that faint perfume,
+  Blent of loose tress and soft lips joined to mine,
+  Those fair white arms that did my neck entwine,
+  That neck's sweet warmth, that smooth cheek's floral bloom?
+
+  Ah! was it true, or was it but a dream
+  Of bliss that scarce to mortal hearts is given?
+  Ah! was it thou, Belovèd, or some bright
+  Phantom of thee that made thy presence seem,
+  Rich with the warmth of Life, the light of Heaven,
+  To hover o'er the realms where both unite?
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+ETHEREAL BEAUTY
+
+
+  Nay, it was thou, when the fair Evening Star
+  Leaned on the purple bosom of the West;
+  'Twas thou, when o'er the far hills' frowning crest
+  Fell the soft beams of Cynthia's silv'ry car:
+  Thyself--than stars and moonbeams fairer far--
+  A vision in ethereal beauty drest!
+  But, when thy head drooped flow'r-like on my breast,
+  Then did no word our souls' communion mar:
+
+  Love spake to love without a sign or glance,
+  And heart to heart its inmost depth revealed
+  In the deep thrilling silence of that trance,
+  Till earth, and earthly being ceased to be,
+  And our blent souls at that high altar kneeled
+  Whence Love doth gaze upon Eternity!
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+A CROWN OF THORNS
+
+
+  There was a crown of thorns upon the head
+  Of Love, when he across my threshold came.
+  I knew the sign and did not ask his name,
+  But took him to my heart, although he said,
+  'The soul's dumb agonies, the tears unshed
+  That sear the heart, th' injustice and the blame
+  Of the harsh world,--God wills that I should claim
+  Through these immortal Life when Hope is dead.'
+
+  I took him to my heart and clasped him close.
+  E'en though his thorns did make my bosom bleed.
+  Then from the very core of pain arose
+  A joy that seemed to be the utmost need
+  Of my worn soul! Love whispered, '_This_ the meed
+  Of hearts that keep their faith amidst Love's woes.'
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+TWO HEARTS IN ONE
+
+
+  Two hearts made one by Love that cannot die
+  Whatever life may bring, shall never part;
+  In life they're one, and e'en in death one heart!
+  Are we not such, Belovèd, thou and I?
+  Ah, then, why mourn that 'neath another sky,
+  Far from these longing arms and eyes thou art?
+  I clasp thee still, and lo! thy lips impart
+  New life to me as in the days gone by.
+
+  I feel thy heart in mine,--our hopes and fears,
+  Like music's wedded notes, together flow;
+  Our sighs the same, the same our smiles and tears,--
+  The selfsame bliss is ours, the selfsame woe.
+  For Love no weary leagues, no ling'ring years--
+  Two hearts in one nor time nor distance know.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+YEARNING
+
+
+  The night is sweet: thy breath is in the air,
+  I feel it on my face; thy tender eyes
+  Look love upon me from yon starry skies!
+  They bring to me, those glancing moonbeams fair,
+  The shine and ripple of thy silken hair.
+  And in the silent whispers and the sighs
+  That from the throbbing heart of Nature rise,
+  I hear thee, feel thee,--own thy presence there.
+
+  Ah, fond deceit!--too soon the heart, unblest,
+  Unsated, turns from these illusive charms
+  Back to the haunting dream of heav'n once known:
+  It pines for those soft eyes, that throbbing breast,
+  Those sweet life-giving lips, those circling arms--
+  The breath, the touch, the warmth of Beauty flown.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+LOVE'S GIFT
+
+
+  I'm far from thee, yet oft our spirits meet:
+  We share the longings of each other's breast,
+  And all our joys and sorrows are confest
+  As though our lips did love's fond tale repeat.
+  Ah! then thine eyes send forth, mine eyes to greet,
+  Glances in which thy whole soul is exprest,
+  Then, like some song-bird flutt'ring in its nest,
+  I hear thy heart in pulsing cadence beat.
+
+  I know its music and I know its thought;
+  My heart to it th' unuttered words supplies;
+  I listen to the thrilling melody
+  Until my soul its subtle tone hath caught.
+  And then I take it as Love's gift,--it lies
+  Imprisoned in my own weak poesy!
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+  From out the golden dawn of vanished years
+  She glides into my dreams, a form divine
+  Of light and love, to soothe the thoughts that pine
+  For what has been, to stem the tide of tears
+  That inward flows upon the heart and sears
+  Its inmost core. Her countenance benign,
+  Where Love and Pity's chastened graces shine,
+  Reflects the hallowed light of other spheres.
+
+  Then to my anguished soul, with care outworn,
+  Comes, like a strain on aerial wings upborne,
+  This message from her soul:--'_Bid sorrow cease;
+  Love dies not;--'tis th' immortal life above.
+  And chastened souls, that win eternal peace
+  Through earthly suff'ring, know that Heaven is Love_!'
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets
+by Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11266 ***
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #11266 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11266)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets
+by Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sonnets
+
+Author: Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
+Release Date: February 24, 2004 [EBook #11266]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Olaf Voss and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+BY THE
+
+NAWAB NIZAMAT JUNG BAHADUR
+
+
+"_Love is not discoverable by the eye, but only by the soul. Its
+elements are indeed innate in our mortal constitution, and we
+give it the names of Joy and Aphrodite; but in its highest nature no
+mortal hath fully comprehended it_."
+
+EMPEDOCLES.
+
+
+"_Every one choose the object of his affections according to his
+character.... The Divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and by these the
+wings of the soul are nourished_."
+
+PLATO.
+
+
+
+
+1917
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+         FOREWORD, BY R.C. FRASER
+         NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
+         PROLOGUE
+      I. REBIRTH
+     II. THE CROWN OF LIFE
+    III. BEFORE THE THRONE
+     IV. WORSHIP
+      V. UNITY
+     VI. LOVE'S SILENCE
+    VII. THE SUBLIME HOPE
+   VIII. THE HEART OF LOVE
+     IX. "'TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
+      X. THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
+     XI. IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
+    XII. ETERNAL JOY
+   XIII. CONSTANCY
+    XIV. CALM AFTER STORM
+     XV. THE STAR OF LOVE
+    XVI. IMPRISONED MUSIC
+   XVII. LOVE'S MESSAGE
+  XVIII. ECSTASY
+    XIX. THE DREAM
+     XX. ETHEREAL BEAUTY
+    XXI. A CROWN OF THORNS
+   XXII. TWO HEARTS IN ONE
+  XXIII. YEARNING
+   XXIV. LOVE'S GIFT
+         EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+BY RICHARD CHARLES FRASER
+
+
+The following Sonnet Sequence,--written during rare intervals of leisure
+in a busy and strenuous life,--was privately printed in Madras early in
+1914, without any intention of publication on the part of the author. He
+has, however, now consented to allow it to be given to a wider audience;
+and we anticipate in many directions a welcome for this small but
+significant volume by the writer of _India to England_, one of the most
+popular and often-quoted lyrics evoked by the Great War.
+
+The Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur, was born in the State of Hyderabad, but
+educated in England; and there are some--at Cambridge and elsewhere--who
+will remember his keenly discriminating interest in British history and
+literature, and the comprehensive way he, in a few words, would indicate
+his impressions of poets and heroes, long dead, but to him ever-living.
+
+His appreciation was both ardent and just; he could swiftly recognise
+the nobler elements in characters which at first glance might seem
+startlingly dissimilar; and he could pass without apparent effort from
+study of the lives of men of action to the inward contemplations of
+abstruse philosophers.
+
+To those who have not met him, it may appear paradoxical to say that his
+tastes were at the same moment acutely fastidious and widely
+sympathetic; but anyone who has talked with him will recall the blend of
+high impersonal ideas with a remarkable personality which seldom failed
+to stimulate other minds--even if those others shared few if any of his
+intellectual tastes.
+
+A famous British General (still living) was once asked, "What is the
+most essential quality for a great leader of men?" And he replied in one
+word "SYMPATHY." The General was speaking of leadership in relation to
+warfare; and by "Sympathy" he meant swift insight into the minds of
+others; and, with this insight, the power to arouse and fan into a flame
+the spark of chivalry and true nobility in each. The career of the Nawab
+Nizamat Jung has not been set in the world of action,--he is at present
+a Judge of the High Court in Hyderabad,--but nevertheless this
+definition of sympathy is not irrelevant, for the Nawab's personal
+influence has been more subtle and far-reaching than he himself is yet
+aware. His love of poetry and history, if on the one hand it has
+intensified his realisation of the sorrows and tragedies of earthly
+life, on the other hand has equipped him with a power to awake in others
+a vivid consciousness of the moral value of literature,--through which
+(for the mere asking) we any of us can find our way into a kingdom of
+great ideas. This kingdom is also the kingdom of eternal realities--or
+so at least it should be; and those who in the early nineties in England
+talked with Nizamoudhin (as he then was) could scarcely fail to notice
+that he valued the genius of an author, or the exploits of a character
+in history, chiefly in proportion to the permanent and vital nature of
+the truths this character had laboured to express--whether in words or
+action.
+
+But Truth, has many faces; and scarcely any poet (except perhaps
+Shakespeare) has come within measurable distance of expressing every
+aspect of the human character. The Nawab could take pleasure in reading
+poets as temperamentally dissimilar as Shelley and Scott, Spenser and
+Byron,--to name only a few. Shelley, who was a spirit utterly unable to
+understand this world or ordinary homespun human nature; and Scott, who
+not only comprehended both without an effort, but who combined the
+practical and the romantic elements successfully in his own life, A
+devotion to Spenser, "the poet's poet," the poet of a dreamy yet very
+real and living chivalry,--Spenser who used to forget himself in his
+creations,--did not prevent the Nawab from understanding Byron, who
+never could forget himself at all; and who, with all his vivid impulses
+of generous sympathy for the oppressed, is nevertheless generally
+classed to-day as a colossal egoist. (Unjustly so, for no mere egoist
+would have toiled as he toiled for Greek emancipation, in the
+nerve-racking campaign which cost him his life.)
+
+In _India to England_--most characteristic of the war poems of Nizamat
+Jung--we see traces of the influence of more than one of the English
+poets he has read so lovingly. But the poem is none the less poignantly
+personal. The same may be said of the Sonnets here prefaced; for
+although they are related to the sonnets of earlier poets whose work
+must be familiar to the writer, yet they are in no sense imitations, nor
+are they echoes.
+
+"_Poetry is the natural language of strong emotion_," the Nawab said many
+years ago;--and if it may be asked why, holding this view, he has chosen
+such an elaborate (and, some people might add, artificial) form as the
+Sonnet, we can only answer that when an emotion or conviction is
+deep-seated and permanent, it becomes clarified, concentrated, and
+intensified under the stern discipline of compression within the
+arbitrary yet expressive limitations of a sonnet.[A]
+
+One of the main reasons why the Nawab's friends have urged the
+publication of his Sonnets, is that despite occasional imperfections (of
+which he himself is conscious), they form a consistent whole, and in
+their spirit and sentiment they are akin to some of the most noble
+utterances of the great minds and hearts whose words have been like
+torches to show what heights a strong aspiring soul can climb.
+
+"_The Will is the master. Imagination the tool, and the body the plastic
+material_," said a famous physician, who was also a practical man of the
+world;--and the poet who identifies his will and imagination with the
+eternal truths, who looks up to the stars instead of down into the mud,
+may always, even in his weariest hours, cheer himself by mental
+companionship with the other resolute souls whose pens have been used as
+swords in the service of Divine Beauty.
+
+Of all the most famous writers of Sonnets, it is Michelangelo whose
+words come back most vividly to memory as we read the Nawab's
+expressions of faith.
+
+  "_Love wakes the soul and gives it wings to fly_."
+
+
+  "_All beauty that to human sight is given
+  Is but the shadow, if we rightly see,
+  Of Him from Whom man's spirit issueth_."
+
+
+  "_As heat from fire, my love from the ideal
+  Is parted never_."
+
+
+  "_Oh noble spirit, noble semblance taking,
+  We mirrored in Thy mortal beauty see
+  What Heaven and earth achieve in harmony_."
+
+Thus wrote Michelangelo of Vittoria Colonna (Marchioness of Pescara),
+"being enamoured of her divine spirit";[B] and though in the Sonnets of
+the Nawab, who uses what is for him a foreign tongue, the ideal is
+sometimes greater than the expression of it, yet the spirit shines out
+with a light which none can mistake. And whether the average man accepts
+or rejects the standards therein embodied, lovers of poetry will
+recognise that the Nawab, in his championship of a high and noble ideal,
+fights in the same army as Dante and Michelangelo,--neither of them
+cloistered dreamers, neither of them arm-chair theorists, but men who
+lived and loved and suffered amidst the turmoil of a world they viewed
+with wide-open eyes and unflinching minds.
+
+The chivalrous ideal of an exalted and inspiring love can be rejected if
+we please;--but let none claim to be manly because this ideal seems too
+ethereal. For it is by the most vigorous, most strenuous, and most
+commanding souls and minds that this faith in the Eternal Beauty has
+been cherished and upheld most ardently and resolutely.
+
+_September 29, 1917_.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[A] See "Note on the History of the Sonnet in English Literature," below.
+
+[B] Ascanio Condivi's "Life of Michelangelo Buonarroti."
+
+
+
+
+NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
+
+
+Now that Italy holds such a brilliant place among our Allies during this
+the greatest war in the world's history--the war of chivalry (which is
+to say moral and spiritual right) against the arrogant might of the
+Prussian Octopus,--it is well to remember that it was from Italy the
+Sonnet first came into England. The word _sonnet_ in fact, is from the
+Italian _sonetto_ (literally "a little sound"), and the _sonetto_ was
+originally a short poem recited or sung to the accompaniment of music,
+probably the lute or mandolin.
+
+Whether its birth should be attributed to Italy or Sicily,--or to
+Provence, the cradle of troubadour poetry,--is a subject on which the
+learned may still indulge in pleasant controversies. But in Italy,
+towards the end of the thirteenth century, it had already become a
+favourite mode of expression; and some forty years later, in a
+manuscript treatise on the _Poetica Volgare_ (written in 1332 by a Judge
+in Padua), sixteen different forms of sonnet were enumerated as then in
+current use.
+
+But despite the continued vogue of the Sonnet, and its association with
+the names of such masters as Dante, Petrarch, Tasso and Michelangelo in
+Italy; Ronsard in France; Camoens in Portugal; Shakespeare, Milton,
+Wordsworth and Rossetti in England--to say nothing of a host of minor
+poets, who, though one star differeth from another in glory, yet
+constitute a brilliant galaxy--it is remarkable that even now the
+average non-literary reader when asked "What is a Sonnet?" seldom gives
+any more explicit reply than to say it is "a short poem limited to
+fourteen lines."
+
+The rules for the structure of those fourteen lines, and the labour and
+patience entailed in producing a poem under these limitations, are not
+always realised even by those who enjoy the results of the poet's
+concentrated efforts. The more successful a sonnet, the more the reader
+is apt to accept its beauty as if it had grown by a natural process like
+a flower. This, perhaps, is the best compliment we could pay the poet;
+but if the poet is one who boldly essays a most difficult and complex
+form, in a language which for him is foreign, then we should pause a
+moment to consider what it is that he has set out to accomplish.
+
+Taking the structure first (though for the poet the spirit and impetus
+of the central idea must of course come first)--a sonnet on the Italian
+(Petrarchan) model must consist of fourteen lines of ten syllables each,
+and must be composed of a major and minor system, i.e. an octave and a
+sestet.
+
+In the octave (the first eight lines) the first, fourth, fifth and
+eighth lines must rhyme on the same sound, and the second, third, sixth
+and seventh, must rhyme on another sound.
+
+In the sestet (the last six lines) more liberty of rhyme and arrangement
+is permitted, but a rhymed couplet at the end is not usual except when
+the sonnet departs from the Italian model and is on the English or, as
+we say, "Shakespearian" pattern.
+
+Each sonnet must be complete; and, even if one of a sequence, it should
+contain within itself everything necessary to the understanding of it.
+It must be the expression of _one_ emotion, _one_ fact, _one_ idea, and
+"the continuity of the thought, idea, or emotion must be unbroken
+throughout." "Dignity and repose," "expression ample yet reticent," are
+qualities which one of our ablest modern critics emphasises as
+essential, and the end must always be more impressive than the
+beginning,--the reader must be carried onwards and upwards, and left
+with a definite feeling that in what has been said there is neither
+superfluity nor omission, but rather a completeness which precludes all
+wish or need for a longer poem.
+
+How difficult this is for the poet can only be realised by trying to
+achieve it.
+
+The earliest writers of English sonnets were two very romantic and
+gallant men of action, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Henry Howard, Earl of
+Surrey,--both destined to brief brilliant lives and tragic deaths. They
+were followed by Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney and a host of Elizabethan
+poets, courtly and otherwise. But it is Shakespeare whose Sonnets
+(though not conforming to the Petrarchan model) show the most force and
+fire of any in our language until those of Milton.
+
+To analyse the variations of the Shakesperian, Spenserian and Miltonian
+forms is, however, unnecessary to our present purpose, as the Sonnet
+Sequence we are now prefacing is based on the Petrarchan model. Strictly
+speaking, the Petrarchan sestet (the last six lines) should have three
+separate rhymed sounds; the first and fourth lines, the second and
+fifth, and the third and sixth should form the three rhymes. But this
+rule is by no means invariably followed; even Wordsworth and Rossetti
+often rhymed the first with the third, and the second with the fourth
+lines; and sometimes used only two sounds,--the first, third, and fifth
+lines making one rhyme and the second, fourth, and sixth the other.
+
+As already said, these liberties are permitted, for the sestet is not
+under such arbitrary regulations as the octave.
+
+There are writers who keep all the rules, and yet leave their readers
+cold; and others who are technically less correct, but in whom the
+vigour and intensity of emotion is swiftly felt and silences adverse
+criticism. The ideal is to combine deep and exalted feeling with perfect
+expression, and produce a whole which goes to the heart like a beautiful
+piece of music, and satisfies the mind--like one of those ancient Greek
+gems which, in a small space, presents engraved images symbolic of
+sublime ideas vast as the universe.
+
+The Nawab Nizamat Jung has written in English several sonnets which we
+should admire even if English were his native language. But if any of us
+would like to form some estimate of the difficulties he has surmounted,
+let us sit down and try to express in a sonnet in _any_ foreign language
+our own thoughts and beliefs. We shall then the better appreciate what
+he has achieved.
+
+As, however, while the Great War lasts, few of us have leisure for
+literary experiments, it will perhaps be best to read these Sonnets
+primarily for their soul and spirit. In melody and expression they are
+of varying degrees of merit and completeness, but in the inspiring ideal
+they consistently embody they rise to heights which have been scaled
+only by the noblest. In tone and temper--as already said--they are akin
+to the Sonnets to Vittoria Colonna by Michelangelo,--of whom it was
+written by one who knew him well, "_Though I have held such long
+intercourse with him I have never heard from his mouth a word, that was
+not most honourable.... In him there are no base thoughts.... He loves
+not only human beauty, but everything that is beautiful and exquisite in
+its own kind,--marvelling at it with a wonderful admiration_."
+
+Here we see defined the temperament of the heroic poet, that inner
+nobility and exaltation without which mere technical skill can avail
+little in moving and holding the hearts of men.
+
+This note on the structure of the Sonnet would fail in its purpose if it
+distracted the reader from the spirit behind the form;--for the spirit
+is the life,--and few who read these Sonnets will deny that the spirit
+of Nizamat Jung is that of the true poet, ever striving to look beyond
+ephemeral sorrows up to the Eternal Beauty--now hidden behind a veil,
+but some day to be revealed in all its splendour and completeness.
+
+R.C.F.
+
+_October 6, 1917_.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+
+  As one who wanders lone and wearily
+  Through desert tracts of Silence and of Night,
+  Pining for Lovers keen utterance and for light,
+  And chasing shadowy forms that mock and flee,
+  My soul was wandering through Eternity,
+  Seeking, within the depth and on the height
+  Of Being, one with whom it might unite
+  In life and love and immortality;
+
+  When lo! she stood before me, whom I'd sought,
+  With dying hope, through life's decaying years--
+  A form, a spirit, human yet divine.
+  Love gave her eyes the light of heav'n, and taught
+  Her lips the mystic music of the spheres.
+  Our beings met,--I felt her soul in mine;
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+REBIRTH
+
+
+  To me no mortal but a spirit blest,
+  A Light-girt messenger of Love art thou--
+  The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow.
+  The thrice-pure fire of Love within thy breast!
+  Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest,
+  As God's fulfilment of the purest vow
+  Love's heart e'er made--thou com'st to show e'en _now_
+  The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best!
+
+  I clasp thy feet,--O fold me in thy wings,
+  And place thy pure white hands upon my head,
+  And breathe, O breathe, thy love-breath o'er mine eyes
+  Till, like the flame that from dark ashes springs,
+  My chastened spirit, from a self that's dead,
+  Upon the wings of Love shall heav'nward rise.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE CROWN OF LIFE
+
+
+  I know not what Love is,--a memory
+  Of Heav'n once known,--a yearning for some goal
+  That shines afar,--a dream that doth control
+  The spirit, shadowing forth what is to be.
+  But this I know, my heart hath found in thee
+  The crown of life, the glory of the soul,
+  The healing of all strife, the making whole
+  Of my imperfect being,--yea, of me!
+
+  For to mine eyes thine eyes, through Love, reveal
+  The smile of God; to me God's healing breath
+  Comes through thy hallowed lips whose pray'r is Love.
+  Thy touch gives life! And oh, let me but feel
+  Thy hovering hand my closing eyes above,--
+  Then, then, my soul will triumph over Death.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+BEFORE THE THRONE
+
+
+  When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes--
+  Eyes heavy-laden with the soul's desire,
+  Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire--
+  I have a vision of Love's Paradise.
+  Gazing, my trancèd spirit straightway flies
+  Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire;
+  I hear the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire
+  Around Immortal Love triumphant rise.
+
+  And there I kneel before th' eternal throne
+  Of Love, whose light conceals him,--there I see,
+  Veiled in his sacred light, a face well known
+  To me on earth, now, yearning, bend o'er me.
+  Heaven's mystic veil, inwove of light and tone,
+  Conceals thee not, Belovèd,--I know thee!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+WORSHIP
+
+
+  How poor is all my love, how great thy claim!
+  How weak the breath, the voice which would reveal
+  All that thy soul hath taught my soul to feel--
+  Longings profound,--deep thoughts without a name.
+  If God's self might be worshipped, without blame,
+  In His best works, then would I silent kneel
+  Watching thine eyes,--until my soul should steal
+  Back, unperceived, to regions whence it came!
+
+  If my whole life were but one thought of thee,
+  That thought the purest worship of my heart
+  And my soul's yearning blent; if at thy feet
+  I offered such a life, there still would be
+  Something to wish for,--something to complete
+  The measure of my love and thy desert.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+UNITY
+
+
+  When I approach thee, Love, I lay aside
+  All that is mortal in me; with a heart
+  Absolved and pure, and cleansed in every part
+  Of every thought that I might wish to hide
+  From God, I come,--fit spirit to abide
+  With such a soaring spirit as thou art,
+  Whose eye transfixes with a fiery dart
+  Presumptuous passion and ignoble pride.
+
+  Yea, thus I come to thee, and thus I dare
+  To gaze into thine eyes; I take thy hand,
+  And its soft touch upon my lips and eyes
+  Thrills thy pure being, while it lingers there,
+  Into my heart and soul;--and then we stand
+  Like the first two that loved in Paradise!
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+LOVE'S SILENCE
+
+
+  When through thine eyes the light of Heav'n doth shine
+  Upon my being, and thy whisper brings,
+  As the soft rustling of an angel's wings,
+  Joy to my soul and peace and grace divine;
+  When thus thy body and thy soul combine
+  To weave the mystic web thy beauty flings
+  Around my heart, whose thrilling silence rings
+  With Hope's unuttered songs that make thee mine,--
+
+  Ah, then, O Love! what need of words have we,
+  Who speak in feeling to each other's heart?
+  Words are too weak Love's message to impart,
+  Too frail to live through Love's eternity.
+  Silence, the voice of God, alone must be
+  Love's voice for thee, beloved as them art.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE SUBLIME HOPE
+
+
+  What need to tell thee o'er and o'er again
+  What eyes to eyes have spoken silently
+  And heart to heart hath uttered? Love must be
+  For us a hushed delight, a voiceless pain
+  Serenely borne! Our lips must ne'er profane
+  Our inmost feelings,--lest the sanctity
+  Of Love be lessened in our hearts and we
+  Nought higher than the common path attain!
+
+  The common path were death to us, whose love,
+  O'erruled by Fate, from earthly hopes debarred,
+  Must look to Heav'n for sublimer joys
+  Than those which earth can give, which earth destroys.
+  Our path is steep, but there is light above,
+  And Faith can make the roughest way less hard.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE HEART OF LOVE
+
+
+  Look in mine eyes, Belovèd,--for my tongue
+  Must never utter what my heart doth claim,--
+  And read Love there, for Love's forbidden name
+  Dies on my trembling lips unvoiced, unsung.
+  Nor sighs, nor tears--the bitter tribute wrung
+  From hearts of woe--must e'er that love proclaim
+  For which the world's unpitying heart would blame
+  Thy pity--though from purest fountains sprung.
+
+  Fate and the world, they bid wide oceans roll
+  Between our yearning hearts and their desire;
+  Yea, lips they silence, but can ne'er control
+  The heart of Love, nor quench its sacred fire.
+  I must not speak; O look into my soul--
+  There read the message which thou dost require!
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+"TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
+
+
+  Not here,--not here, where weak conventions mar
+  Life's hopes and joys, Love's beauty, truth and grace,
+  Must I come near thee, greet thee face to face,
+  Pour in thine ear the songs and sighs that are
+  My heart's best offerings. But in regions far,
+  Where Love's ethereal pinions may embrace
+  Beauty divine--in the clear interspace
+  Of twilight silence betwixt star and star,
+
+  And in the smiles of cloudless skies serene,
+  In Dawn's first blush and Sunset's lingering glow,
+  And in the glamour of the Moon's chaste beams--
+  My soul meets thine, and there thine image seen,
+  More real than life, doth to my lone heart show
+  Such charms as live in Memory's haunting dreams!
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
+
+
+  A time there was, when for thy beauty's prize--
+  Hadst thou but deemed my love that prize deserved--
+  What hope, what faith my daring heart had nerved
+  For proud achievement and for high emprize!
+  No Knight, that owned the spell of Beauty's eyes
+  And wore her sleeve upon his helm, had served
+  His vows with faith like mine; I ne'er had swerved
+  One jot from mine for all beneath the skies.
+
+  That time is dead, alas! and yet this heart
+  Is thine, still thine, with Love's high chivalry
+  And Faith that cannot die; but now its part
+  Must be a higher knighthood,--patiently
+  To brook life's ills, and, pierced with many a dart,
+  By sacrifice of self to merit thee.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
+
+
+  As when the Moon, emerging from a cloud,
+  Sheds on the dreary earth her gracious light,
+  A smile comes o'er the frowning brow of Night,
+  Who hastens to withdraw her sable shroud;
+  And then the lurking shadows' dark-robed crowd,
+  Pursued with glitt'ring shafts, is put to flight;
+  And, robed in silv'ry raiment, soft and bright
+  The humblest flower as a Queen seems proud;
+
+  So when thou com'st to me in Beauty's bloom,
+  And on thy face soft Pity's graces shine,
+  Thou can'st dispel the heavy shades of gloom
+  From my sad heart, which ceases then to pine;
+  And Hope and Joy their quenched beams relume
+  And gild the universe with light divine.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+ETERNAL JOY
+
+
+  Truth is but as the eye of God doth see;
+  And Love is truth, and Love hath made thee mine.
+  What though on earth our lives may not combine,
+  Love makes us one for all Eternity!
+  God gives us to each other, bids us be
+  Each other's soul's fulfilment, makes Love shine
+  Upon our souls as His own light divine.
+  An effluence of His own deity.
+
+  Why ask for more? Our union is above
+  All earthly unions, ours those heights serene
+  Where Love alone is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love--
+  Where never comes the world's harsh breath between
+  Hope's fruits and flow'rs. Ah, why then earthward move,
+  Where pure and perfect bliss hath never been?
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+CONSTANCY
+
+
+  Ah, Love, I know that to my love thou art,
+  And must be, in this life, a dream,--a name!
+  But be it joy or grief, or praise or blame,
+  I give thee all the worship of my heart.
+  'Tis not for Love to bid life's cares depart;
+  Love wings the soul for Heaven whence it came.
+  Such love from Petrarch's soul did Laura claim,
+  And Beatrice to Dante did impart.
+
+  To thee I turn,--be thou or near or far,
+  And whether on my love thou frown or smile,--
+  As, in mid-ocean, to some fairy isle
+  Palm-crowned; as, in the heav'ns, to eve's bright star
+  Whose pure white fire allures the vision, while
+  Myriads of paler lights unnoticed are!
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+CALM AFTER STORM
+
+
+  Thou hast but seen what but mine eyes have shown--
+  Mine eyes that gazing on thee picture Heaven;
+  Thou hast but heard what but my voice hath given--
+  My voice that takes from thine a calmer tone.
+  Ah! couldst thou know all that my heart hath known,
+  While with Despair's dark phantoms it hath striven--
+  From faith to doubt, from joy to sorrow driven,
+  Till rescued and redeemed by Love alone,--
+
+  Thou wouldst not marvel were my cloudless brow
+  O'er-clouded, were my aspect less serene!
+  Love smiles on Death, unveils his mystery
+  Of joy and grief, and Love bids me avow
+  This truth, with chastened heart and tranquil mien,--
+  'Less pure Love's bliss if less Love's agony.'
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+THE STAR OF LOVE
+
+
+  Time's cycle rolls--once more I hail the day
+  On which propitious Heaven sent to Earth,
+  Disguised in thy fair form, in mortal birth,
+  The Star of Love, whose pure celestial ray
+  Glides through the spirit's gloom and lights the way
+  To bliss! I hail thy coming 'midst the dearth
+  Of the soul's aspirations, when the worth
+  Of hearts like thine had ceased men's hearts to sway.
+
+  I greet thee, Love, and with thee scale the height,
+  That cloudless height where winged spirits rest:
+  Where the deep yearnings of the mortal breast,
+  From mortal bin set free, reveal to sight
+  That living Presence, that Eternal Light
+  In which enwrapt the eager soul is blest.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+IMPRISONED MUSIC
+
+
+  Oh, had I but the poet's voice to sing,
+  Then would the music prisoned in my heart
+  (Panting in vain its message to impart)
+  Hover around thee, Love, on trembling wing,
+  To tell thee of the soft-eyed hopes that cling
+  To Love's white feet, the doubts and fears that start
+  And pierce his bosom with a poisoned dart,--
+  The smiles that soothe, the cold hard looks that sting!
+
+  But 'tis not mine, the soaring joy of Song:
+  I strive to voice my soul, but strive in vain.
+  Though passion thrills, and eager fancies throng,
+  Deckt in the varying hues of joy and pain,
+  Yet the weak voice--as weak as Love is strong--
+  Dies murm'ring on Love's throbbing heart again.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+LOVE'S MESSAGE
+
+
+  We will not take Love's name; that little word,
+  By lips too oft profaned, we will not use.
+  From Nature's best and loveliest we will choose
+  Fit symbols for Love's message; like a bird,--
+  Whose warbled love-notes by its mate are heard
+  In greenwood glade,--shalt thou in strains profuse
+  The prisoned music of thy heart unloose,
+  While my heart's love is by sweet flow'rs averred.
+
+  Then take, O take these fresh-awakened flowers,
+  The symbols of my love, and keep them near,
+  Where they may feel thy breath and touch thy hand;
+  Then sing thy songs to me,--in silver showers
+  Pour forth, thine eager soul, and I shall hear;
+  Ah, thus will Love Love's message Understand!
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+ECSTASY
+
+
+  The Nightingale upon the Rose's breast
+  Warbling her tale of life-long sorrow lies,
+  Till in love's trancèd ecstasy her eyes
+  Close and her throbbing heart is set at rest;
+  For, to the yielding flow'r her bosom prest,
+  Death steals upon her in the sweet disguise
+  Of crownèd love and brings what life denies,--
+  mingling of the souls,--Love's eager quest!
+
+  Thus let my heart against thy heart repose,
+  Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh,
+  Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath;
+  Thus in love's languor let our eyelids close,
+  And let our blended souls enchanted lie,
+  And dream of joy beyond the gates of death.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+THE DREAM
+
+
+  Was it a dream, when, through the spirit's gloom,
+  I saw the yearning face of Beauty shine--
+  Soft in its human aspect, though divine,
+  Pleading for human love, though armed with doom?
+  And was it but a dream, that faint perfume,
+  Blent of loose tress and soft lips joined to mine,
+  Those fair white arms that did my neck entwine,
+  That neck's sweet warmth, that smooth cheek's floral bloom?
+
+  Ah! was it true, or was it but a dream
+  Of bliss that scarce to mortal hearts is given?
+  Ah! was it thou, Belovèd, or some bright
+  Phantom of thee that made thy presence seem,
+  Rich with the warmth of Life, the light of Heaven,
+  To hover o'er the realms where both unite?
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+ETHEREAL BEAUTY
+
+
+  Nay, it was thou, when the fair Evening Star
+  Leaned on the purple bosom of the West;
+  'Twas thou, when o'er the far hills' frowning crest
+  Fell the soft beams of Cynthia's silv'ry car:
+  Thyself--than stars and moonbeams fairer far--
+  A vision in ethereal beauty drest!
+  But, when thy head drooped flow'r-like on my breast,
+  Then did no word our souls' communion mar:
+
+  Love spake to love without a sign or glance,
+  And heart to heart its inmost depth revealed
+  In the deep thrilling silence of that trance,
+  Till earth, and earthly being ceased to be,
+  And our blent souls at that high altar kneeled
+  Whence Love doth gaze upon Eternity!
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+A CROWN OF THORNS
+
+
+  There was a crown of thorns upon the head
+  Of Love, when he across my threshold came.
+  I knew the sign and did not ask his name,
+  But took him to my heart, although he said,
+  'The soul's dumb agonies, the tears unshed
+  That sear the heart, th' injustice and the blame
+  Of the harsh world,--God wills that I should claim
+  Through these immortal Life when Hope is dead.'
+
+  I took him to my heart and clasped him close.
+  E'en though his thorns did make my bosom bleed.
+  Then from the very core of pain arose
+  A joy that seemed to be the utmost need
+  Of my worn soul! Love whispered, '_This_ the meed
+  Of hearts that keep their faith amidst Love's woes.'
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+TWO HEARTS IN ONE
+
+
+  Two hearts made one by Love that cannot die
+  Whatever life may bring, shall never part;
+  In life they're one, and e'en in death one heart!
+  Are we not such, Belovèd, thou and I?
+  Ah, then, why mourn that 'neath another sky,
+  Far from these longing arms and eyes thou art?
+  I clasp thee still, and lo! thy lips impart
+  New life to me as in the days gone by.
+
+  I feel thy heart in mine,--our hopes and fears,
+  Like music's wedded notes, together flow;
+  Our sighs the same, the same our smiles and tears,--
+  The selfsame bliss is ours, the selfsame woe.
+  For Love no weary leagues, no ling'ring years--
+  Two hearts in one nor time nor distance know.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+YEARNING
+
+
+  The night is sweet: thy breath is in the air,
+  I feel it on my face; thy tender eyes
+  Look love upon me from yon starry skies!
+  They bring to me, those glancing moonbeams fair,
+  The shine and ripple of thy silken hair.
+  And in the silent whispers and the sighs
+  That from the throbbing heart of Nature rise,
+  I hear thee, feel thee,--own thy presence there.
+
+  Ah, fond deceit!--too soon the heart, unblest,
+  Unsated, turns from these illusive charms
+  Back to the haunting dream of heav'n once known:
+  It pines for those soft eyes, that throbbing breast,
+  Those sweet life-giving lips, those circling arms--
+  The breath, the touch, the warmth of Beauty flown.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+LOVE'S GIFT
+
+
+  I'm far from thee, yet oft our spirits meet:
+  We share the longings of each other's breast,
+  And all our joys and sorrows are confest
+  As though our lips did love's fond tale repeat.
+  Ah! then thine eyes send forth, mine eyes to greet,
+  Glances in which thy whole soul is exprest,
+  Then, like some song-bird flutt'ring in its nest,
+  I hear thy heart in pulsing cadence beat.
+
+  I know its music and I know its thought;
+  My heart to it th' unuttered words supplies;
+  I listen to the thrilling melody
+  Until my soul its subtle tone hath caught.
+  And then I take it as Love's gift,--it lies
+  Imprisoned in my own weak poesy!
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+  From out the golden dawn of vanished years
+  She glides into my dreams, a form divine
+  Of light and love, to soothe the thoughts that pine
+  For what has been, to stem the tide of tears
+  That inward flows upon the heart and sears
+  Its inmost core. Her countenance benign,
+  Where Love and Pity's chastened graces shine,
+  Reflects the hallowed light of other spheres.
+
+  Then to my anguished soul, with care outworn,
+  Comes, like a strain on aerial wings upborne,
+  This message from her soul:--'_Bid sorrow cease;
+  Love dies not;--'tis th' immortal life above.
+  And chastened souls, that win eternal peace
+  Through earthly suff'ring, know that Heaven is Love_!'
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets
+by Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets
+by Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sonnets
+
+Author: Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
+Release Date: February 24, 2004 [EBook #11266]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Olaf Voss and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+BY THE
+
+NAWAB NIZAMAT JUNG BAHADUR
+
+
+"_Love is not discoverable by the eye, but only by the soul. Its
+elements are indeed innate in our mortal constitution, and we
+give it the names of Joy and Aphrodite; but in its highest nature no
+mortal hath fully comprehended it_."
+
+EMPEDOCLES.
+
+
+"_Every one choose the object of his affections according to his
+character.... The Divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and by these the
+wings of the soul are nourished_."
+
+PLATO.
+
+
+
+
+1917
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+         FOREWORD, BY R.C. FRASER
+         NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
+         PROLOGUE
+      I. REBIRTH
+     II. THE CROWN OF LIFE
+    III. BEFORE THE THRONE
+     IV. WORSHIP
+      V. UNITY
+     VI. LOVE'S SILENCE
+    VII. THE SUBLIME HOPE
+   VIII. THE HEART OF LOVE
+     IX. "'TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
+      X. THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
+     XI. IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
+    XII. ETERNAL JOY
+   XIII. CONSTANCY
+    XIV. CALM AFTER STORM
+     XV. THE STAR OF LOVE
+    XVI. IMPRISONED MUSIC
+   XVII. LOVE'S MESSAGE
+  XVIII. ECSTASY
+    XIX. THE DREAM
+     XX. ETHEREAL BEAUTY
+    XXI. A CROWN OF THORNS
+   XXII. TWO HEARTS IN ONE
+  XXIII. YEARNING
+   XXIV. LOVE'S GIFT
+         EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+BY RICHARD CHARLES FRASER
+
+
+The following Sonnet Sequence,--written during rare intervals of leisure
+in a busy and strenuous life,--was privately printed in Madras early in
+1914, without any intention of publication on the part of the author. He
+has, however, now consented to allow it to be given to a wider audience;
+and we anticipate in many directions a welcome for this small but
+significant volume by the writer of _India to England_, one of the most
+popular and often-quoted lyrics evoked by the Great War.
+
+The Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur, was born in the State of Hyderabad, but
+educated in England; and there are some--at Cambridge and elsewhere--who
+will remember his keenly discriminating interest in British history and
+literature, and the comprehensive way he, in a few words, would indicate
+his impressions of poets and heroes, long dead, but to him ever-living.
+
+His appreciation was both ardent and just; he could swiftly recognise
+the nobler elements in characters which at first glance might seem
+startlingly dissimilar; and he could pass without apparent effort from
+study of the lives of men of action to the inward contemplations of
+abstruse philosophers.
+
+To those who have not met him, it may appear paradoxical to say that his
+tastes were at the same moment acutely fastidious and widely
+sympathetic; but anyone who has talked with him will recall the blend of
+high impersonal ideas with a remarkable personality which seldom failed
+to stimulate other minds--even if those others shared few if any of his
+intellectual tastes.
+
+A famous British General (still living) was once asked, "What is the
+most essential quality for a great leader of men?" And he replied in one
+word "SYMPATHY." The General was speaking of leadership in relation to
+warfare; and by "Sympathy" he meant swift insight into the minds of
+others; and, with this insight, the power to arouse and fan into a flame
+the spark of chivalry and true nobility in each. The career of the Nawab
+Nizamat Jung has not been set in the world of action,--he is at present
+a Judge of the High Court in Hyderabad,--but nevertheless this
+definition of sympathy is not irrelevant, for the Nawab's personal
+influence has been more subtle and far-reaching than he himself is yet
+aware. His love of poetry and history, if on the one hand it has
+intensified his realisation of the sorrows and tragedies of earthly
+life, on the other hand has equipped him with a power to awake in others
+a vivid consciousness of the moral value of literature,--through which
+(for the mere asking) we any of us can find our way into a kingdom of
+great ideas. This kingdom is also the kingdom of eternal realities--or
+so at least it should be; and those who in the early nineties in England
+talked with Nizamoudhin (as he then was) could scarcely fail to notice
+that he valued the genius of an author, or the exploits of a character
+in history, chiefly in proportion to the permanent and vital nature of
+the truths this character had laboured to express--whether in words or
+action.
+
+But Truth, has many faces; and scarcely any poet (except perhaps
+Shakespeare) has come within measurable distance of expressing every
+aspect of the human character. The Nawab could take pleasure in reading
+poets as temperamentally dissimilar as Shelley and Scott, Spenser and
+Byron,--to name only a few. Shelley, who was a spirit utterly unable to
+understand this world or ordinary homespun human nature; and Scott, who
+not only comprehended both without an effort, but who combined the
+practical and the romantic elements successfully in his own life, A
+devotion to Spenser, "the poet's poet," the poet of a dreamy yet very
+real and living chivalry,--Spenser who used to forget himself in his
+creations,--did not prevent the Nawab from understanding Byron, who
+never could forget himself at all; and who, with all his vivid impulses
+of generous sympathy for the oppressed, is nevertheless generally
+classed to-day as a colossal egoist. (Unjustly so, for no mere egoist
+would have toiled as he toiled for Greek emancipation, in the
+nerve-racking campaign which cost him his life.)
+
+In _India to England_--most characteristic of the war poems of Nizamat
+Jung--we see traces of the influence of more than one of the English
+poets he has read so lovingly. But the poem is none the less poignantly
+personal. The same may be said of the Sonnets here prefaced; for
+although they are related to the sonnets of earlier poets whose work
+must be familiar to the writer, yet they are in no sense imitations, nor
+are they echoes.
+
+"_Poetry is the natural language of strong emotion_," the Nawab said many
+years ago;--and if it may be asked why, holding this view, he has chosen
+such an elaborate (and, some people might add, artificial) form as the
+Sonnet, we can only answer that when an emotion or conviction is
+deep-seated and permanent, it becomes clarified, concentrated, and
+intensified under the stern discipline of compression within the
+arbitrary yet expressive limitations of a sonnet.[A]
+
+One of the main reasons why the Nawab's friends have urged the
+publication of his Sonnets, is that despite occasional imperfections (of
+which he himself is conscious), they form a consistent whole, and in
+their spirit and sentiment they are akin to some of the most noble
+utterances of the great minds and hearts whose words have been like
+torches to show what heights a strong aspiring soul can climb.
+
+"_The Will is the master. Imagination the tool, and the body the plastic
+material_," said a famous physician, who was also a practical man of the
+world;--and the poet who identifies his will and imagination with the
+eternal truths, who looks up to the stars instead of down into the mud,
+may always, even in his weariest hours, cheer himself by mental
+companionship with the other resolute souls whose pens have been used as
+swords in the service of Divine Beauty.
+
+Of all the most famous writers of Sonnets, it is Michelangelo whose
+words come back most vividly to memory as we read the Nawab's
+expressions of faith.
+
+  "_Love wakes the soul and gives it wings to fly_."
+
+
+  "_All beauty that to human sight is given
+  Is but the shadow, if we rightly see,
+  Of Him from Whom man's spirit issueth_."
+
+
+  "_As heat from fire, my love from the ideal
+  Is parted never_."
+
+
+  "_Oh noble spirit, noble semblance taking,
+  We mirrored in Thy mortal beauty see
+  What Heaven and earth achieve in harmony_."
+
+Thus wrote Michelangelo of Vittoria Colonna (Marchioness of Pescara),
+"being enamoured of her divine spirit";[B] and though in the Sonnets of
+the Nawab, who uses what is for him a foreign tongue, the ideal is
+sometimes greater than the expression of it, yet the spirit shines out
+with a light which none can mistake. And whether the average man accepts
+or rejects the standards therein embodied, lovers of poetry will
+recognise that the Nawab, in his championship of a high and noble ideal,
+fights in the same army as Dante and Michelangelo,--neither of them
+cloistered dreamers, neither of them arm-chair theorists, but men who
+lived and loved and suffered amidst the turmoil of a world they viewed
+with wide-open eyes and unflinching minds.
+
+The chivalrous ideal of an exalted and inspiring love can be rejected if
+we please;--but let none claim to be manly because this ideal seems too
+ethereal. For it is by the most vigorous, most strenuous, and most
+commanding souls and minds that this faith in the Eternal Beauty has
+been cherished and upheld most ardently and resolutely.
+
+_September 29, 1917_.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[A] See "Note on the History of the Sonnet in English Literature," below.
+
+[B] Ascanio Condivi's "Life of Michelangelo Buonarroti."
+
+
+
+
+NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE
+
+
+Now that Italy holds such a brilliant place among our Allies during this
+the greatest war in the world's history--the war of chivalry (which is
+to say moral and spiritual right) against the arrogant might of the
+Prussian Octopus,--it is well to remember that it was from Italy the
+Sonnet first came into England. The word _sonnet_ in fact, is from the
+Italian _sonetto_ (literally "a little sound"), and the _sonetto_ was
+originally a short poem recited or sung to the accompaniment of music,
+probably the lute or mandolin.
+
+Whether its birth should be attributed to Italy or Sicily,--or to
+Provence, the cradle of troubadour poetry,--is a subject on which the
+learned may still indulge in pleasant controversies. But in Italy,
+towards the end of the thirteenth century, it had already become a
+favourite mode of expression; and some forty years later, in a
+manuscript treatise on the _Poetica Volgare_ (written in 1332 by a Judge
+in Padua), sixteen different forms of sonnet were enumerated as then in
+current use.
+
+But despite the continued vogue of the Sonnet, and its association with
+the names of such masters as Dante, Petrarch, Tasso and Michelangelo in
+Italy; Ronsard in France; Camoens in Portugal; Shakespeare, Milton,
+Wordsworth and Rossetti in England--to say nothing of a host of minor
+poets, who, though one star differeth from another in glory, yet
+constitute a brilliant galaxy--it is remarkable that even now the
+average non-literary reader when asked "What is a Sonnet?" seldom gives
+any more explicit reply than to say it is "a short poem limited to
+fourteen lines."
+
+The rules for the structure of those fourteen lines, and the labour and
+patience entailed in producing a poem under these limitations, are not
+always realised even by those who enjoy the results of the poet's
+concentrated efforts. The more successful a sonnet, the more the reader
+is apt to accept its beauty as if it had grown by a natural process like
+a flower. This, perhaps, is the best compliment we could pay the poet;
+but if the poet is one who boldly essays a most difficult and complex
+form, in a language which for him is foreign, then we should pause a
+moment to consider what it is that he has set out to accomplish.
+
+Taking the structure first (though for the poet the spirit and impetus
+of the central idea must of course come first)--a sonnet on the Italian
+(Petrarchan) model must consist of fourteen lines of ten syllables each,
+and must be composed of a major and minor system, i.e. an octave and a
+sestet.
+
+In the octave (the first eight lines) the first, fourth, fifth and
+eighth lines must rhyme on the same sound, and the second, third, sixth
+and seventh, must rhyme on another sound.
+
+In the sestet (the last six lines) more liberty of rhyme and arrangement
+is permitted, but a rhymed couplet at the end is not usual except when
+the sonnet departs from the Italian model and is on the English or, as
+we say, "Shakespearian" pattern.
+
+Each sonnet must be complete; and, even if one of a sequence, it should
+contain within itself everything necessary to the understanding of it.
+It must be the expression of _one_ emotion, _one_ fact, _one_ idea, and
+"the continuity of the thought, idea, or emotion must be unbroken
+throughout." "Dignity and repose," "expression ample yet reticent," are
+qualities which one of our ablest modern critics emphasises as
+essential, and the end must always be more impressive than the
+beginning,--the reader must be carried onwards and upwards, and left
+with a definite feeling that in what has been said there is neither
+superfluity nor omission, but rather a completeness which precludes all
+wish or need for a longer poem.
+
+How difficult this is for the poet can only be realised by trying to
+achieve it.
+
+The earliest writers of English sonnets were two very romantic and
+gallant men of action, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Henry Howard, Earl of
+Surrey,--both destined to brief brilliant lives and tragic deaths. They
+were followed by Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney and a host of Elizabethan
+poets, courtly and otherwise. But it is Shakespeare whose Sonnets
+(though not conforming to the Petrarchan model) show the most force and
+fire of any in our language until those of Milton.
+
+To analyse the variations of the Shakesperian, Spenserian and Miltonian
+forms is, however, unnecessary to our present purpose, as the Sonnet
+Sequence we are now prefacing is based on the Petrarchan model. Strictly
+speaking, the Petrarchan sestet (the last six lines) should have three
+separate rhymed sounds; the first and fourth lines, the second and
+fifth, and the third and sixth should form the three rhymes. But this
+rule is by no means invariably followed; even Wordsworth and Rossetti
+often rhymed the first with the third, and the second with the fourth
+lines; and sometimes used only two sounds,--the first, third, and fifth
+lines making one rhyme and the second, fourth, and sixth the other.
+
+As already said, these liberties are permitted, for the sestet is not
+under such arbitrary regulations as the octave.
+
+There are writers who keep all the rules, and yet leave their readers
+cold; and others who are technically less correct, but in whom the
+vigour and intensity of emotion is swiftly felt and silences adverse
+criticism. The ideal is to combine deep and exalted feeling with perfect
+expression, and produce a whole which goes to the heart like a beautiful
+piece of music, and satisfies the mind--like one of those ancient Greek
+gems which, in a small space, presents engraved images symbolic of
+sublime ideas vast as the universe.
+
+The Nawab Nizamat Jung has written in English several sonnets which we
+should admire even if English were his native language. But if any of us
+would like to form some estimate of the difficulties he has surmounted,
+let us sit down and try to express in a sonnet in _any_ foreign language
+our own thoughts and beliefs. We shall then the better appreciate what
+he has achieved.
+
+As, however, while the Great War lasts, few of us have leisure for
+literary experiments, it will perhaps be best to read these Sonnets
+primarily for their soul and spirit. In melody and expression they are
+of varying degrees of merit and completeness, but in the inspiring ideal
+they consistently embody they rise to heights which have been scaled
+only by the noblest. In tone and temper--as already said--they are akin
+to the Sonnets to Vittoria Colonna by Michelangelo,--of whom it was
+written by one who knew him well, "_Though I have held such long
+intercourse with him I have never heard from his mouth a word, that was
+not most honourable.... In him there are no base thoughts.... He loves
+not only human beauty, but everything that is beautiful and exquisite in
+its own kind,--marvelling at it with a wonderful admiration_."
+
+Here we see defined the temperament of the heroic poet, that inner
+nobility and exaltation without which mere technical skill can avail
+little in moving and holding the hearts of men.
+
+This note on the structure of the Sonnet would fail in its purpose if it
+distracted the reader from the spirit behind the form;--for the spirit
+is the life,--and few who read these Sonnets will deny that the spirit
+of Nizamat Jung is that of the true poet, ever striving to look beyond
+ephemeral sorrows up to the Eternal Beauty--now hidden behind a veil,
+but some day to be revealed in all its splendour and completeness.
+
+R.C.F.
+
+_October 6, 1917_.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+
+  As one who wanders lone and wearily
+  Through desert tracts of Silence and of Night,
+  Pining for Lovers keen utterance and for light,
+  And chasing shadowy forms that mock and flee,
+  My soul was wandering through Eternity,
+  Seeking, within the depth and on the height
+  Of Being, one with whom it might unite
+  In life and love and immortality;
+
+  When lo! she stood before me, whom I'd sought,
+  With dying hope, through life's decaying years--
+  A form, a spirit, human yet divine.
+  Love gave her eyes the light of heav'n, and taught
+  Her lips the mystic music of the spheres.
+  Our beings met,--I felt her soul in mine;
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+REBIRTH
+
+
+  To me no mortal but a spirit blest,
+  A Light-girt messenger of Love art thou--
+  The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow.
+  The thrice-pure fire of Love within thy breast!
+  Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest,
+  As God's fulfilment of the purest vow
+  Love's heart e'er made--thou com'st to show e'en _now_
+  The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best!
+
+  I clasp thy feet,--O fold me in thy wings,
+  And place thy pure white hands upon my head,
+  And breathe, O breathe, thy love-breath o'er mine eyes
+  Till, like the flame that from dark ashes springs,
+  My chastened spirit, from a self that's dead,
+  Upon the wings of Love shall heav'nward rise.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE CROWN OF LIFE
+
+
+  I know not what Love is,--a memory
+  Of Heav'n once known,--a yearning for some goal
+  That shines afar,--a dream that doth control
+  The spirit, shadowing forth what is to be.
+  But this I know, my heart hath found in thee
+  The crown of life, the glory of the soul,
+  The healing of all strife, the making whole
+  Of my imperfect being,--yea, of me!
+
+  For to mine eyes thine eyes, through Love, reveal
+  The smile of God; to me God's healing breath
+  Comes through thy hallowed lips whose pray'r is Love.
+  Thy touch gives life! And oh, let me but feel
+  Thy hovering hand my closing eyes above,--
+  Then, then, my soul will triumph over Death.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+BEFORE THE THRONE
+
+
+  When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes--
+  Eyes heavy-laden with the soul's desire,
+  Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire--
+  I have a vision of Love's Paradise.
+  Gazing, my tranced spirit straightway flies
+  Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire;
+  I hear the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire
+  Around Immortal Love triumphant rise.
+
+  And there I kneel before th' eternal throne
+  Of Love, whose light conceals him,--there I see,
+  Veiled in his sacred light, a face well known
+  To me on earth, now, yearning, bend o'er me.
+  Heaven's mystic veil, inwove of light and tone,
+  Conceals thee not, Beloved,--I know thee!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+WORSHIP
+
+
+  How poor is all my love, how great thy claim!
+  How weak the breath, the voice which would reveal
+  All that thy soul hath taught my soul to feel--
+  Longings profound,--deep thoughts without a name.
+  If God's self might be worshipped, without blame,
+  In His best works, then would I silent kneel
+  Watching thine eyes,--until my soul should steal
+  Back, unperceived, to regions whence it came!
+
+  If my whole life were but one thought of thee,
+  That thought the purest worship of my heart
+  And my soul's yearning blent; if at thy feet
+  I offered such a life, there still would be
+  Something to wish for,--something to complete
+  The measure of my love and thy desert.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+UNITY
+
+
+  When I approach thee, Love, I lay aside
+  All that is mortal in me; with a heart
+  Absolved and pure, and cleansed in every part
+  Of every thought that I might wish to hide
+  From God, I come,--fit spirit to abide
+  With such a soaring spirit as thou art,
+  Whose eye transfixes with a fiery dart
+  Presumptuous passion and ignoble pride.
+
+  Yea, thus I come to thee, and thus I dare
+  To gaze into thine eyes; I take thy hand,
+  And its soft touch upon my lips and eyes
+  Thrills thy pure being, while it lingers there,
+  Into my heart and soul;--and then we stand
+  Like the first two that loved in Paradise!
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+LOVE'S SILENCE
+
+
+  When through thine eyes the light of Heav'n doth shine
+  Upon my being, and thy whisper brings,
+  As the soft rustling of an angel's wings,
+  Joy to my soul and peace and grace divine;
+  When thus thy body and thy soul combine
+  To weave the mystic web thy beauty flings
+  Around my heart, whose thrilling silence rings
+  With Hope's unuttered songs that make thee mine,--
+
+  Ah, then, O Love! what need of words have we,
+  Who speak in feeling to each other's heart?
+  Words are too weak Love's message to impart,
+  Too frail to live through Love's eternity.
+  Silence, the voice of God, alone must be
+  Love's voice for thee, beloved as them art.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE SUBLIME HOPE
+
+
+  What need to tell thee o'er and o'er again
+  What eyes to eyes have spoken silently
+  And heart to heart hath uttered? Love must be
+  For us a hushed delight, a voiceless pain
+  Serenely borne! Our lips must ne'er profane
+  Our inmost feelings,--lest the sanctity
+  Of Love be lessened in our hearts and we
+  Nought higher than the common path attain!
+
+  The common path were death to us, whose love,
+  O'erruled by Fate, from earthly hopes debarred,
+  Must look to Heav'n for sublimer joys
+  Than those which earth can give, which earth destroys.
+  Our path is steep, but there is light above,
+  And Faith can make the roughest way less hard.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE HEART OF LOVE
+
+
+  Look in mine eyes, Beloved,--for my tongue
+  Must never utter what my heart doth claim,--
+  And read Love there, for Love's forbidden name
+  Dies on my trembling lips unvoiced, unsung.
+  Nor sighs, nor tears--the bitter tribute wrung
+  From hearts of woe--must e'er that love proclaim
+  For which the world's unpitying heart would blame
+  Thy pity--though from purest fountains sprung.
+
+  Fate and the world, they bid wide oceans roll
+  Between our yearning hearts and their desire;
+  Yea, lips they silence, but can ne'er control
+  The heart of Love, nor quench its sacred fire.
+  I must not speak; O look into my soul--
+  There read the message which thou dost require!
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+"TWIXT STAR AND STAR"
+
+
+  Not here,--not here, where weak conventions mar
+  Life's hopes and joys, Love's beauty, truth and grace,
+  Must I come near thee, greet thee face to face,
+  Pour in thine ear the songs and sighs that are
+  My heart's best offerings. But in regions far,
+  Where Love's ethereal pinions may embrace
+  Beauty divine--in the clear interspace
+  Of twilight silence betwixt star and star,
+
+  And in the smiles of cloudless skies serene,
+  In Dawn's first blush and Sunset's lingering glow,
+  And in the glamour of the Moon's chaste beams--
+  My soul meets thine, and there thine image seen,
+  More real than life, doth to my lone heart show
+  Such charms as live in Memory's haunting dreams!
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD
+
+
+  A time there was, when for thy beauty's prize--
+  Hadst thou but deemed my love that prize deserved--
+  What hope, what faith my daring heart had nerved
+  For proud achievement and for high emprize!
+  No Knight, that owned the spell of Beauty's eyes
+  And wore her sleeve upon his helm, had served
+  His vows with faith like mine; I ne'er had swerved
+  One jot from mine for all beneath the skies.
+
+  That time is dead, alas! and yet this heart
+  Is thine, still thine, with Love's high chivalry
+  And Faith that cannot die; but now its part
+  Must be a higher knighthood,--patiently
+  To brook life's ills, and, pierced with many a dart,
+  By sacrifice of self to merit thee.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM
+
+
+  As when the Moon, emerging from a cloud,
+  Sheds on the dreary earth her gracious light,
+  A smile comes o'er the frowning brow of Night,
+  Who hastens to withdraw her sable shroud;
+  And then the lurking shadows' dark-robed crowd,
+  Pursued with glitt'ring shafts, is put to flight;
+  And, robed in silv'ry raiment, soft and bright
+  The humblest flower as a Queen seems proud;
+
+  So when thou com'st to me in Beauty's bloom,
+  And on thy face soft Pity's graces shine,
+  Thou can'st dispel the heavy shades of gloom
+  From my sad heart, which ceases then to pine;
+  And Hope and Joy their quenched beams relume
+  And gild the universe with light divine.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+ETERNAL JOY
+
+
+  Truth is but as the eye of God doth see;
+  And Love is truth, and Love hath made thee mine.
+  What though on earth our lives may not combine,
+  Love makes us one for all Eternity!
+  God gives us to each other, bids us be
+  Each other's soul's fulfilment, makes Love shine
+  Upon our souls as His own light divine.
+  An effluence of His own deity.
+
+  Why ask for more? Our union is above
+  All earthly unions, ours those heights serene
+  Where Love alone is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love--
+  Where never comes the world's harsh breath between
+  Hope's fruits and flow'rs. Ah, why then earthward move,
+  Where pure and perfect bliss hath never been?
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+CONSTANCY
+
+
+  Ah, Love, I know that to my love thou art,
+  And must be, in this life, a dream,--a name!
+  But be it joy or grief, or praise or blame,
+  I give thee all the worship of my heart.
+  'Tis not for Love to bid life's cares depart;
+  Love wings the soul for Heaven whence it came.
+  Such love from Petrarch's soul did Laura claim,
+  And Beatrice to Dante did impart.
+
+  To thee I turn,--be thou or near or far,
+  And whether on my love thou frown or smile,--
+  As, in mid-ocean, to some fairy isle
+  Palm-crowned; as, in the heav'ns, to eve's bright star
+  Whose pure white fire allures the vision, while
+  Myriads of paler lights unnoticed are!
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+CALM AFTER STORM
+
+
+  Thou hast but seen what but mine eyes have shown--
+  Mine eyes that gazing on thee picture Heaven;
+  Thou hast but heard what but my voice hath given--
+  My voice that takes from thine a calmer tone.
+  Ah! couldst thou know all that my heart hath known,
+  While with Despair's dark phantoms it hath striven--
+  From faith to doubt, from joy to sorrow driven,
+  Till rescued and redeemed by Love alone,--
+
+  Thou wouldst not marvel were my cloudless brow
+  O'er-clouded, were my aspect less serene!
+  Love smiles on Death, unveils his mystery
+  Of joy and grief, and Love bids me avow
+  This truth, with chastened heart and tranquil mien,--
+  'Less pure Love's bliss if less Love's agony.'
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+THE STAR OF LOVE
+
+
+  Time's cycle rolls--once more I hail the day
+  On which propitious Heaven sent to Earth,
+  Disguised in thy fair form, in mortal birth,
+  The Star of Love, whose pure celestial ray
+  Glides through the spirit's gloom and lights the way
+  To bliss! I hail thy coming 'midst the dearth
+  Of the soul's aspirations, when the worth
+  Of hearts like thine had ceased men's hearts to sway.
+
+  I greet thee, Love, and with thee scale the height,
+  That cloudless height where winged spirits rest:
+  Where the deep yearnings of the mortal breast,
+  From mortal bin set free, reveal to sight
+  That living Presence, that Eternal Light
+  In which enwrapt the eager soul is blest.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+IMPRISONED MUSIC
+
+
+  Oh, had I but the poet's voice to sing,
+  Then would the music prisoned in my heart
+  (Panting in vain its message to impart)
+  Hover around thee, Love, on trembling wing,
+  To tell thee of the soft-eyed hopes that cling
+  To Love's white feet, the doubts and fears that start
+  And pierce his bosom with a poisoned dart,--
+  The smiles that soothe, the cold hard looks that sting!
+
+  But 'tis not mine, the soaring joy of Song:
+  I strive to voice my soul, but strive in vain.
+  Though passion thrills, and eager fancies throng,
+  Deckt in the varying hues of joy and pain,
+  Yet the weak voice--as weak as Love is strong--
+  Dies murm'ring on Love's throbbing heart again.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+LOVE'S MESSAGE
+
+
+  We will not take Love's name; that little word,
+  By lips too oft profaned, we will not use.
+  From Nature's best and loveliest we will choose
+  Fit symbols for Love's message; like a bird,--
+  Whose warbled love-notes by its mate are heard
+  In greenwood glade,--shalt thou in strains profuse
+  The prisoned music of thy heart unloose,
+  While my heart's love is by sweet flow'rs averred.
+
+  Then take, O take these fresh-awakened flowers,
+  The symbols of my love, and keep them near,
+  Where they may feel thy breath and touch thy hand;
+  Then sing thy songs to me,--in silver showers
+  Pour forth, thine eager soul, and I shall hear;
+  Ah, thus will Love Love's message Understand!
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+ECSTASY
+
+
+  The Nightingale upon the Rose's breast
+  Warbling her tale of life-long sorrow lies,
+  Till in love's tranced ecstasy her eyes
+  Close and her throbbing heart is set at rest;
+  For, to the yielding flow'r her bosom prest,
+  Death steals upon her in the sweet disguise
+  Of crowned love and brings what life denies,--
+  mingling of the souls,--Love's eager quest!
+
+  Thus let my heart against thy heart repose,
+  Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh,
+  Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath;
+  Thus in love's languor let our eyelids close,
+  And let our blended souls enchanted lie,
+  And dream of joy beyond the gates of death.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+THE DREAM
+
+
+  Was it a dream, when, through the spirit's gloom,
+  I saw the yearning face of Beauty shine--
+  Soft in its human aspect, though divine,
+  Pleading for human love, though armed with doom?
+  And was it but a dream, that faint perfume,
+  Blent of loose tress and soft lips joined to mine,
+  Those fair white arms that did my neck entwine,
+  That neck's sweet warmth, that smooth cheek's floral bloom?
+
+  Ah! was it true, or was it but a dream
+  Of bliss that scarce to mortal hearts is given?
+  Ah! was it thou, Beloved, or some bright
+  Phantom of thee that made thy presence seem,
+  Rich with the warmth of Life, the light of Heaven,
+  To hover o'er the realms where both unite?
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+ETHEREAL BEAUTY
+
+
+  Nay, it was thou, when the fair Evening Star
+  Leaned on the purple bosom of the West;
+  'Twas thou, when o'er the far hills' frowning crest
+  Fell the soft beams of Cynthia's silv'ry car:
+  Thyself--than stars and moonbeams fairer far--
+  A vision in ethereal beauty drest!
+  But, when thy head drooped flow'r-like on my breast,
+  Then did no word our souls' communion mar:
+
+  Love spake to love without a sign or glance,
+  And heart to heart its inmost depth revealed
+  In the deep thrilling silence of that trance,
+  Till earth, and earthly being ceased to be,
+  And our blent souls at that high altar kneeled
+  Whence Love doth gaze upon Eternity!
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+A CROWN OF THORNS
+
+
+  There was a crown of thorns upon the head
+  Of Love, when he across my threshold came.
+  I knew the sign and did not ask his name,
+  But took him to my heart, although he said,
+  'The soul's dumb agonies, the tears unshed
+  That sear the heart, th' injustice and the blame
+  Of the harsh world,--God wills that I should claim
+  Through these immortal Life when Hope is dead.'
+
+  I took him to my heart and clasped him close.
+  E'en though his thorns did make my bosom bleed.
+  Then from the very core of pain arose
+  A joy that seemed to be the utmost need
+  Of my worn soul! Love whispered, '_This_ the meed
+  Of hearts that keep their faith amidst Love's woes.'
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+TWO HEARTS IN ONE
+
+
+  Two hearts made one by Love that cannot die
+  Whatever life may bring, shall never part;
+  In life they're one, and e'en in death one heart!
+  Are we not such, Beloved, thou and I?
+  Ah, then, why mourn that 'neath another sky,
+  Far from these longing arms and eyes thou art?
+  I clasp thee still, and lo! thy lips impart
+  New life to me as in the days gone by.
+
+  I feel thy heart in mine,--our hopes and fears,
+  Like music's wedded notes, together flow;
+  Our sighs the same, the same our smiles and tears,--
+  The selfsame bliss is ours, the selfsame woe.
+  For Love no weary leagues, no ling'ring years--
+  Two hearts in one nor time nor distance know.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+YEARNING
+
+
+  The night is sweet: thy breath is in the air,
+  I feel it on my face; thy tender eyes
+  Look love upon me from yon starry skies!
+  They bring to me, those glancing moonbeams fair,
+  The shine and ripple of thy silken hair.
+  And in the silent whispers and the sighs
+  That from the throbbing heart of Nature rise,
+  I hear thee, feel thee,--own thy presence there.
+
+  Ah, fond deceit!--too soon the heart, unblest,
+  Unsated, turns from these illusive charms
+  Back to the haunting dream of heav'n once known:
+  It pines for those soft eyes, that throbbing breast,
+  Those sweet life-giving lips, those circling arms--
+  The breath, the touch, the warmth of Beauty flown.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+LOVE'S GIFT
+
+
+  I'm far from thee, yet oft our spirits meet:
+  We share the longings of each other's breast,
+  And all our joys and sorrows are confest
+  As though our lips did love's fond tale repeat.
+  Ah! then thine eyes send forth, mine eyes to greet,
+  Glances in which thy whole soul is exprest,
+  Then, like some song-bird flutt'ring in its nest,
+  I hear thy heart in pulsing cadence beat.
+
+  I know its music and I know its thought;
+  My heart to it th' unuttered words supplies;
+  I listen to the thrilling melody
+  Until my soul its subtle tone hath caught.
+  And then I take it as Love's gift,--it lies
+  Imprisoned in my own weak poesy!
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+  From out the golden dawn of vanished years
+  She glides into my dreams, a form divine
+  Of light and love, to soothe the thoughts that pine
+  For what has been, to stem the tide of tears
+  That inward flows upon the heart and sears
+  Its inmost core. Her countenance benign,
+  Where Love and Pity's chastened graces shine,
+  Reflects the hallowed light of other spheres.
+
+  Then to my anguished soul, with care outworn,
+  Comes, like a strain on aerial wings upborne,
+  This message from her soul:--'_Bid sorrow cease;
+  Love dies not;--'tis th' immortal life above.
+  And chastened souls, that win eternal peace
+  Through earthly suff'ring, know that Heaven is Love_!'
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets
+by Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur)
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS ***
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