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diff --git a/5125-0.txt b/5125-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7aad063 --- /dev/null +++ b/5125-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2699 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Last Poems, by Laurence Hope + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Last Poems + +Author: Laurence Hope + +Release Date: May 5, 2002 [eBook #5125] +Last Updated: August 19, 2023 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Gordon Keener + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** + + + + +Last Poems +Translations from the Book of Indian Love + +Laurence Hope [Adela Florence Cory “Violet” Nicolson] + + +Dedication to Malcolm Nicolson + + +I, who of lighter love wrote many a verse, + Made public never words inspired by thee, +Lest strangers’ lips should carelessly rehearse + Things that were sacred and too dear to me. + +Thy soul was noble; through these fifteen years + Mine eyes familiar, found no fleck nor flaw, +Stern to thyself, thy comrades’ faults and fears + Proved generously thine only law. + +Small joy was I to thee; before we met + Sorrow had left thee all too sad to save. +Useless my love--as vain as this regret + That pours my hopeless life across thy grave. + + L. H. + + +The Masters + + +Oh, Masters, you who rule the world, + Will you not wait with me awhile, +When swords are sheathed and sails are furled, + And all the fields with harvest smile? +I would not waste your time for long, + I ask you but, when you are tired, +To read how by the weak, the strong + Are weighed and worshipped and desired. + +When weary of the Mart, the Loom, + The Withering-house, the Riffle-blocks, +The Barrack-square, the Engine-room, + The pick-axe, ringing on the rocks,-- +When tents are pitched and work is done, + While restful twilight broods above, +By fresh-lit lamp, or dying sun, + See in my songs how women love. + +We shared your lonely watch by night, + We knew you faithful at the helm, +Our thoughts went with you through the fight, + That saved a soul,--or wrecked a realm +Ah, how our hearts leapt forth to you, + In pride and joy, when you prevailed, +And when you died, serene and true: + --We wept in silence when you failed! + + Oh, brain that did not gain the gold! + Oh, arm, that could not wield the sword, + Here is the love, that is not sold, + Here are the hearts to hail you Lord! + +You played and lost the game? What then? + The rules are harsh and hard we know, +You, still, Oh, brothers, are the men + Whom we in secret reverence so. +Your work was waste? Maybe your share + Lay in the hour you laughed and kissed; +Who knows but what your son shall wear + The laurels that his father missed? + +Ay, you who win, and you who lose, + Whether you triumph,--or despair,-- +When your returning footsteps choose + The homeward track, our love is there. +For, since the world is ordered thus, + To you the fame, the stress, the sword, +We can but wait, until to us + You give yourselves, for our reward. + +To Whaler’s deck and Coral beach, + To lonely Ranch and Frontier-Fort, +Beyond the narrow bounds of speech + I lay the cable of my thought. +I fain would send my thanks to you, + (Though who am I, to give you praise?) +Since what you are, and work you do, + Are lessons for our easier ways. + + ’Neath alien stars your camp-fires glow, + I know you not,--your tents are far. + My hope is but in song to show, + How honoured and dear you are. + + +I Shall Forget + + +Although my life, which thou hast scarred and shaken, + Retains awhile some influence of thee, +As shells, by faithless waves long since forsaken, + Still murmur with the music of the Sea, + +I shall forget. Not thine the haunting beauty, + Which, once beheld, for ever holds the heart, +Or, if resigned from stress of Fate or Duty, + Takes part of life away:--the dearer part. + +I gave thee love; thou gavest but Desire. + Ah, the delusion of that summer night! +Thy soul vibrated at the rate of Fire; + Mine, with the rhythm of the waves of Light. + +It is my love for thee that I regret, +Not thee, thyself, and hence,--I shall forget! + + +The Lament of Yasmini, the Dancing-Girl + + +Ah, what hast thou done with that Lover of mine? + The Lover who only cared for thee? +Mine for a handful of nights, and thine + For the Nights that Are and the Days to Be, +The scent of the Champa lost its sweet-- + So sweet is was in the Times that Were!-- +Since His alone, of the numerous feet + That climb my steps, have returned not there. + Ahi, Yasmini, return not there! + +Art thou yet athrill at the touch of His hand, + Art thou still athirst for His waving hair? +Nay, passion thou never couldst understand, + Life’s heights and depths thou wouldst never dare. +The Great Things left thee untouched, unmoved, + The Lesser Things had thy constant care. +Ah, what hast thou done with the Lover I loved, + Who found me wanting, and thee so fair? + Ahi, Yasmini, He found her fair! + +Nay, nay, the greatest of all was thine; + The love of the One whom I craved for so, +But much I doubt if thou couldst divine + The Grace and Glory of Love, or know +The worth of the One whom thine arms embraced. + I may misjudge thee, but who can tell? +So hard it is, for the one displaced, + To weigh the worth of a rival’s spell. + Ahi, Yasmini, thy rival’s spell! + +And Thou, whom I loved: have the seasons brought + That fair content, which allured Thee so? +Is it all that Thy delicate fancy wrought? + Yasmini wonders; she may not know. +Yet never the Stars desert the sky, + To fade away in the desolate Dawn, +But Yasmini watches their glory die, + And mourns for her own Bright Star withdrawn. + Ahi, Yasmini, the lonely dawn! + +Ah, never the lingering gold dies down + In a sunset flare of resplendent light, +And never the palm-tree’s feathery crown + Uprears itself to the shadowy night, +But Yasmini thinks of those evenings past, + When she prayed the glow of the glimmering West +To vanish quickly, that night, at last, + Might bring Thee back to her waiting breast. + Ahi, Yasmini, how sweet that rest! + +Yet I would not say that I always weep; + The force, that made such a desperate thing +Of my love for Thee, has not fallen asleep, + The blood still leaps, and the senses sing, +While other passion has oft availed. + (Other Love--Ah, my One, forgive!--) +To aid, when Churus and Opium failed;-- + I could not suffer so much and live. + Ahi, Yasmini, who had to live! + +Nay, why should I say “Forgive” to Thee? + To whom my lovers and I are naught, +Who granted some passionate nights to me, + Then rose and left me with never a thought! +And yet, Ah, yet, for those Nights that Were, + Thy passive limbs and thy loose loved hair, +I would pay, as I _have_ paid, all these days, + With the love that kills and the thought that slays. + Ahi, Yasmini, thy youth it slays! + +The youthful widow, with shaven hair, + Whose senses ache for the love of a man, +The young Priest, knowing that women are fair, + Who stems his longing as best he can, +These suffer not as I suffer for Thee; + For the Soul desires what the senses crave, +There will never be pleasure or peace for me, + Since He who wounded, alone could save. + Ahi, Yasmini, He will not save! + +The torchlight flares, and the lovers lean + Towards Yasmini, with yearning eyes, +Who dances, wondering what they mean, + And gives cold kisses, and scant replies. +They talk of Love, she withholds the name,-- + (Love came to her as a Flame of Fire!) +From things that are only a weary shame; + Trivial Vanity;--light Desire. + Ahi, Yasmini, the light Desire! + +Yasmini bends to the praise of men, + And looks in the mirror, upon her hand,[1] +To curse the beauty that failed her then-- + Ah, none of her lovers can understand! +How her whole life hung on that beauty’s power, + The spell that waned at the final test, +The charm that paled in the vital hour,-- + Which won so many,--yet lost the best! + Ahi, Yasmini, who lost the best! + +She leaves the dancing to reach the roof, + With the lover who claims the passing hour, +Her lips are his, but her eyes aloof + While the starlight falls in a silver shower. +Let him take what pleasure, what love, he may, + He, too, will suffer e’er life be spent,-- +But Yasmini’s soul has wandered away + To join the Lover, who came,--and went! + Ahi, Yasmini, He came,--and went! + +[1] Indian women wear a small mirror in a ring on their thumbs. + + +Among the Rice Fields + + +She was fair as a Passion-flower, + (But little of love he knew.) +Her lucent eyes were like amber wine, + And her eyelids stained with blue. + +He called them the Gates of Fair Desire, + And the Lakes where Beauty lay, +But I looked into them once, and saw + The eyes of Beasts of Prey. + +He praised her teeth, that were small and white + As lilies upon his lawn, +While I remembered a tiger’s fangs + That met in a speckled fawn. + +She had her way; a lover the more, + And I had a friend the less. +For long there was nothing to do but wait + And suffer his happiness. + +But now I shall choose the sharpest Kriss + And nestle it in her breast, +For dead, he is drifting down to sea, + And his own hand wrought his rest + + +The Bride + + +Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers, + Jasmin, Hibiscus, vermillion and white, +This is the day, and the Hour of Hours, + Bring forth the Bride for her Lover’s delight. +Maidens no more, as a maiden shall claim her, + Near, in his Mystery, draweth Desire. +Who, if she waver a moment, shall blame her? + She is a flower, and love is a fire. + Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi! + +Give her the anklets, the rings and the necklace, + Darken her eyelids with delicate Art, +Heighten the beauty, so youthful and fleckless, + By the Gods favoured, oh, Bridegroom thou art! +Twine in thy fingers her fingers so slender, + Circle together the Mystical Fire, +Bridegroom,--a whisper--be gentle and tender, + Choti Tinchaurya knows not desire. + Abhi Tinchaurya syani hogayi! + +Bring forth the silks and the veil that shall cover + Beauty, till yesterday, careless and wild, +Red are her lips for the kiss of a lover, + Ripe are her breasts for the lips of a child. +Centre and Shrine of Mysterious Power, + Chalice of Pleasure and Rose of Delight, +Shyly aware of the swift-coming hour, + Waiting the shade and the silence of night, + Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi! + +Still must the Bridegroom his longing dissemble, + Longing to loosen the silk-woven cord, +Ah, how his fingers will flutter and tremble, + Fingers well skilled with the bridle and sword. +Thine is his valor oh, Bride, and his beauty, + Thine to possess and re-issue again, +Such is thy tender and passionate duty, + Licit thy pleasure and honoured thy pain. + Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi! + +Choti Tinchaurya, lovely and tender, + Still all unbroken to sorrow and strife. +Come to the Bridegroom who, silk-clad and slender, + Brings thee the Honour and Burden of Life. +Bidding farewell to thy light-hearted playtime, + Worship thy Lover with fear and delight, +Art thou not ever, though slave of his daytime, + Choti Tinchaurya, queen of his night? + Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi! + + +Unanswered + + +Something compels me, somewhere. Yet I see +No clear command in Life’s long mystery. + +Oft have I flung myself beside my horse, + To drink the water from the roadside mire, +And felt the liquid through my being course, + Stilling the anguish of my thirst’s desire. + +A simple want; so easily allayed; +After the burning march; water and shade. + +Also I lay against the loved one’s heart + Finding fulfilment in that resting-place, +Feeling my longing, quenched, was but a part + Of nature’s ceaseless striving for the race. + +But now, I know not what they would with me; +Matter or Force or God, if Gods there be. + +I wait; I question; Nature heeds me not. + She does but urge in answer to my prayer, +“Arise and do!” Alas, she adds not what; + “Arise and go!” Alas, she says not where! + + +The Net of Memory + + +I cast the Net of Memory, +Man’s torment and delight, +Over the level Sands of Youth +That lay serenely bright, +Their tranquil gold at times submerged +In the Spring Tides of Love’s Delight. + +The Net brought up, in silver gleams, +Forgotten truth and fancies fair: +Like opal shells, small happy facts +Within the Net entangled were +With the red coral of his lips, +The waving seaweed of his hair. + +We were so young; he was so fair. + + +The Cactus Thicket + + +“The Atlas summits were veiled in purple gloom, + But a golden moon above rose clear and free. +The cactus thicket was ruddy with scarlet bloom + Where, through the silent shadow, he came to me.” + +“All my sixteen summers were but for this, + That He should pass, and, pausing, find me fair. +You Stars! bear golden witness! My lips were his; + I would not live till others have fastened there.” + +“Oh take me, Death, ere ever the charm shall fade, + Ah, close these eyes, ere ever the dream grow dim. +I welcome thee with rapture, and unafraid, + Even as yesternight I welcomed Him.” + +<tb> + + “Not now, Impatient one; it well may be + That ten moons hence I shall return for thee.” + + +Song of the Peri + + +Beauty, the Gift of Gifts, I give to thee. + Pleasure and love shall spring around thy feet +As through the lake the lotuses arise + Pinkly transparent and divinely sweet. + +I give thee eyes aglow like morning stars, + Delicate brows, a mist of sable tresses, +That all the journey of thy lie may be + Lit up by love and softened by caresses. + +For those who once were proud and softly bred + Shall, kneeling, wait thee as thou passest by, +They who were pure shall stretch forth eager hands + Crying, “Thy pity, Lord, before we die!” + +And one shall murmur, “If the sun at dawn + Shall open and caress a happy flower, +What blame to him, although the blossom fade + In the full splendour of his noontide power?” + +And one, “If aloes close together grow + It well may chance a plant shall wounded be, +Pierced by the thorntips of another’s leaves, + Thus am I hurt unconsciously by thee.” + +For some shall die and many more shall sin, + Suffering for thy sake till seven times seven, +Because of those most perfect lips of thine + Which held the power to make or mar their heaven. + +And though thou givest back but cruelty, + Their love, persistent, shall not heed nor care, +All those whose ears are fed with blame of thee + Shall say, “It may be so, but he was fair.” + +Ay, those who lost the whole of youth for thee, + Made early and for ever, shamed and sad, +Shall sigh, re-living some sweet memory, + “Ah, once it was his will to make me glad.” + +Thy nights shall be as bright as summer days, + The sequence of thy sins shall seem as duty, +Since I have given thee, Oh, Gift of Gifts!-- + The pale perfection of unrivalled beauty. + + +Though in my Firmament thou wilt not shine + + +Talk not, my Lord, of unrequited love, + Since love requites itself most royally. +Do we not live but by the sun above, + And takes he any heed of thee or me? + +Though in my firmament thou wilt not shine, + Thy glory, as a Star, is none the less. +Oh, Rose, though all unplucked by hand of mine, + Still am I debtor to thy loveliness. + + +The Convert + + +The sun was hot on the tamarind trees, + Their shadows shrivelled and shrank. +No coolness came on the off-shore breeze + That rattled the scrub on the bank. +She stretched her appealing arms to me, +Uplifting the Flagon of Love to me, +Till--great indeed was my unslaked thirst-- + I paused, I stooped, and I drank! + +I went with my foe to the edge of the crater,-- + But no one to return, we knew,-- +The lava’s heat had never been greater + Than the ire between us two. +He flung back his head and he mocked at me, +He spat unspeakable words at me, +Our eyes met, and our knives met, + I saw red, and I slew! + +Such were my deeds when my youth was hot, + And force was new to my hand, +With many more that I tell thee not, + Well known in my native land. +These show thy Christ when thou prayest to Him, +He too was a man thou sayest of Him, +Therefore He, when I reach His feet, + Will remember, and understand. + + +Ashore + + +Out I came from the dancing-place: +The night-wind met me face to face-- + +A wind off the harbour, cold and keen, +“I know,” it whistled, “where thou hast been.” + +A faint voice fell from the stars above-- +“Thou? whom we lighted to shrines of Love!” + +I found when I reached my lonely room +A faint sweet scent in the unlit gloom. + +And this was the worst of all to bear, +For someone had left while lilac there. + +The flower you loved, in times that were. + + +Yasin Khan + + +Ay, thou has found thy kingdom, Yasin Khan, + Thy fathers’ pomp and power are thine, at last. +No more the rugged roads of Khorasan, + The scanty food and tentage of the past! + +Wouldst thou make war? thy followers know no fear. + Where shouldst thou lead them but to victory? +Wouldst thou have love? thy soft-eyed slaves draw near, + Eager to drain thy strength away from thee. + +My thoughts drag backwards to forgotten days, + To scenes etched deeply on my heart by pain; +The thirsty marches, ambuscades, and frays, + The hostile hills, the burnt and barren plain. + +Hast thou forgotten how one night was spent, + Crouched in a camel’s carcase by the road, +Along which Akbar’s soldiers, scouting, went, + And he himself, all unsuspecting, rode? + +Did we not waken one despairing dawn, + Attacked in front, cut off in rear, by snow, +Till, like a tiger leaping on a fawn, + Half of the hill crashed down upon the foe? + +Once, as thou mournd’st thy lifeless brother’s fate, + The red tears falling from thy shattered wrist, +A spent Waziri, forceful still, in hate, + Covered they heart, ten paces off,--and missed! + +Ahi, men thrust a worn and dinted sword + Into a velvet-scabbarded repose; +The gilded pageants that salute thee Lord + Cover _one_ sorrow-rusted heart, God knows. + +Ah, to exchange this wealth of idle days + For one cold reckless night of Khorasan! +To crouch once more before the camp-fire blaze + That lit the lonely eyes of Yasin Khan. + +To watch the starlight glitter on the snows, + The plain stretched round us like a waveless sea, +Waiting until thy weary lids should close + To slip my furs and spread them over thee. + +How the wind howled about the lonely pass, + While the faint snow-shine of that plateaued space +Lit, where it lay upon the frozen grass, + The mournful, tragic beauty of thy face. + +Thou hast enough caressed the scented hair + Of these soft-breasted girls who waste thee so. +Hast thou not sons for every adult year? + Let us arise, O Yasin Khan, and go! + +Let us escape from these prison bars + To gain the freedom of an open sky, +Thy soul and mine, alone beneath the stars, + Intriguing danger, as in days gone by. + +Nay; there is no returning, Yasin Khan. + The white peaks ward the passes, as of yore, +The wind sweeps o’er the wastes of Khorasan;-- + But thou and I go thitherward no more. + +Close, ah, too close, the bitter knowledge clings, + We may not follow where my fancies yearn. +The years go hence, and wild and lovely things, + _Their own_, go with them, never to return. + + +Khristna and His Flute + +(Translation by Moolchand) + + +Be still, my heart, and listen, + For sweet and yet acute +I hear the wistful music + Of Khristna and his flute. +Across the cool, blue evenings, + Throughout the burning days, +Persuasive and beguiling, + He plays and plays and plays. + +Ah, none may hear such music + Resistant to its charms, +The household work grows weary, + And cold the husband’s arms. +I must arise and follow, + To seek, in vain pursuit, +The blueness and the distance, + The sweetness of that flute! + +In linked and liquid sequence, + The plaintive notes dissolve +Divinely tender secrets + That none but he can solve. +Oh, Khristna, I am coming, + I can no more delay. +“My heart has flown to join thee,” + How can my footsteps stay? + +Beloved, such thoughts have peril; + The wish is in my mind +That I had fired the jungle, + And left no leaf behind,-- +Burnt all bamboos to ashes, + And made their music mute,-- +To save thee from the magic + Of Khristna and his flute. + + +Song of Jasoda + + +Had I been young I could have claimed to fold thee + For many days against my eager breast; +But, as things are, how can I hope to hold thee + Once thou hast wakened from this fleeting rest? + +Clear shone the moonlight, so that thou couldst find me, + Yet not so clear that thou couldst see my face, +Where in the shadow of the palms behind me + I waited for thy steps, for thy embrace. + +What reck I now my morning life was lonely? + For widowed feet the ways are always rough. +Though thou hast come to me at sunset only, + Still thou hast come, my Lord, it is enough. + +Ah, mine no more the glow of dawning beauty, + The fragrance and the dainty gloss of youth, +Worn by long years of solitude and duty, + I have no bloom to offer thee in truth. + +Yet, since these eyes of mine have never wandered, + Still may they gleam with long forgotten light. +Since in no wanton way my youth was squandered, + Some sense of youth still clings to me to-night. + +_Thy_ lips are fresh as dew on budding roses, + The gold of dawn still lingers in thy hair, +While the abandonment of sleep discloses + How every attitude of youth is fair. + +Thou art so pale, I hardly dare caress thee, + Too brown my fingers show against the white. +Ahi, the glory, that I should possess thee, + Ahi, the grief, but for a single night! + +The tulip tree has pallid golden flowers + That grow more rosy as their petals fade; +Such is the splendour of my evening hours + Whose time of youth was wasted in the shade. + +I shall not wait to see to-morrow’s morning, + Too bright the golden dawn for me,--too bright,-- +How could I bear thine eyes’ unconscious scorning + Of what so pleased thee in the dimmer light? + +It may be wine had brought some brief illusion, + Filling thy brain with rainbow fantasy, +Or youth, with moonlight, making sweet collusion, + Threw an alluring glamour over me + +Therefore I leave thee softly, to awaken + When the first sun rays warm thy blue-veined breast, +Smiling and all unknowing I have taken + The poppied drink that brings me endless rest. + +Thus would I have thee rise; thy fancy laden + With the vague sweetness of the bygone night, +Thinking of me as some consenting maiden, + Whose beauty blossomed first for thy delight. + +While I, if any kindly visions hover + Around the silence of my last repose, +Shall dream of thee, my pale and radiant lover, + Who made my life so lovely at its close! + + +Song of Ramesram Temple Girl + + +Now is the season of my youth, + Not thus shall I always be, +Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young, + Take thy pleasure with me. +My hair is straight as the falling rain, + And fine as morning mist, +I am a rose awaiting thee + That none have touched or kissed. + + Do as thou wilt with mine and me, + Beloved, I only pray, + Follow the promptings of thy youth. + Let there be no delay! + +A leaf that flutters upon the bough, + A moment, and it is gone,-- +A bubble amid the fountain spray,-- + Ah, pause, and think thereon; +For such is youth and its passing bloom + That wait for thee this hour, +If aught in thy heart incline to me + Ah, stoop and pluck thy flower! + + Come, my Lord, to the temple shade, + Where cooling fountains play, + If aught in thy heart incline to love + Let there be no delay! + +Many shall faint with love of me + And I shall slake their thirst, +But Fate has brought thee hither to-day + That thou shouldst be the first. +Old, so old are the temple-walls, + Love is older than they; +But I am the short-lived temple rose, + Blooming for thee to-day. + + Thine am I, Prince, and only thine, + What is there more so say? + If aught in thy heart incline to love + Let there be no delay! + + +The Rao of Ilore + + +I was sold to the Rao of Ilore, + Slender and tall was he. +When his litter carried him down the street + I peeped through the thatch to see. + Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore, + My lover that was to be! + +The hair that lay on his youthful brow + Was curled like an ocean wave; +His eyes were lit with a tender smile, + But his lips were soft and grave. +For sake of these things I was still with joy + When the silver coins were paid, +And they took me up to the Palace gates, + Delighted and unafraid. + Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore, + May never their brilliance fade! + +So near was I to the crown of life! + Ten thousand times, alas! +The Diwan leant from the latticed hall, + Looked down and saw me pass. +He begged for me from the Rao of Ilore, + Who answered, “She is thine, +Thou wert ever more than a father to me, + And thy desires are mine.” + Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore + That never had looked in mine! + +My years were spent in the Diwan’s Courts, + My youth died down that day. +For sake of thine own content of mind + My lost beloved, I pray +That never my Lord a love may know + Like that he threw away. + Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore, + Who threw my life away! + + +To M. C. N. + + +Thou hast no wealth, nor any pride of power, + Thy life is offered on affection’s altar. +Small sacrifices claim thee, hour by hour, + Yet on the tedious path thou dost not falter. + +To the unknowing, well thy days might seem + Circled by solitude and tireless duty, +Yet is thy soul made radiant by a dream + Of delicate and rainbow-coloured beauty. + +Never a flower trembles in the wind, + Never a sunset lingers on the sea, +But something of its fragrance joins thy mind, + Some sparkle of its light remains with thee. + +Thus when thy spirit enters on its rest, +Thy lips shall say, “I too have known the best!” + + +Disappointment + + +Oh, come, Beloved, before my beauty fades, + Pity the sorrow of my loneliness. +I am a Rosebush that the Cypress shades, + No sunbeams find or lighten my distress. + +Daily I watch the waning of my bloom. + Ah, piteous fading of a thing so fair! +While Fate, remorseless, weaving at her loom, + Twines furtive silver in my twisted hair. + +This noon I watched a tremulous fading rose + Rise on the wind to court a butterfly. +“One speck of pollen, ere my petals close, + Bring me one touch of love before I die!” + +But the gay butterfly, who had the power + To grant, refused, flew far across the dell, +And, as he fertilised a younger flower, + The petals of the rose, defrauded, fell. + +Such was my fate, thou hast not come to me, + Thine eyes are absent, and thy voice is mute, +Though I am slim, as this Papaya tree, + With breasts out-pointing, even as its fruit. + +Beauty was mine, it brought me no caress, + My lips were red, yet there were none to taste, +I saw my youth consume in loneliness, + And all the fervour of my heart run waste. + +While I still hoped that Thou would’st come to me, + I and the garden waited for their Lord. +Here He will rest, beneath this Champa tree; + Hence, all ye spike-set grasses from the sward! + +In this cool rillet I shall bathe His feet, + Come, rounded pebbles from a smoother shore. +This is the honey that His lips will eat, + Hasten, O bees, enhance the amber store! + +Ripen, ye Custard Apples, round and fair, + Practise your songs, O Bulbuls, on the bough, +Surely some sweeter sweetness haunts the air; + Maybe His feet draw near us, even now! + +Disperse, ye fireflies, clustered on the palm, + Love heeds no lamp, he welcomes moonless skies: +Soon shall ye find, O stars, serene and calm, + Your sparkling rivals in my lover’s eyes! + +Closely I wove my leafy Jasmin bowers, + Hoping to hide my pleasure and my shame, +Where the Lantana’s indecisive flowers + Vary from palest rose to orange flame. + +Ay, there were lovely hours, ’neath fern and palm, + Almost my aching longing I forgot. +White nights of silence, noons of golden calm, + All past, all wasted, since Thou camest not! + +Night after night the Champa trees distilled + Their cruel sweetness on the careless air. +Noon after noon I watched the Bulbuls build, + And saw with hungry eyes the Sun-birds pair. + +None came, and none will come; no use to wait,-- + Youth’s fragrance dies, its tender light dies down. +I will arise, before it grows too late, + And seek the noisy brilliance of the town. + +These many waiting years I longed for gold, + Now must I needs console me with alloy. +Before this beauty fades, this pulse grows cold, + I may not love, I will at least enjoy! + +Farewell, my Solitude of scented flowers, + Across whose glades the emerald parrots gleam, +Haunt of false hope, and home of wasted hours, + I am awake, at last,--Guard thou the dream! + + +On Pilgrimage + + +Oh, youthful bearer of my palanquin, + Thy glossy hair lies loosened on thy neck, +The “tears of labour” gem thy velvet skin, + Whose even texture knows no other fleck. + +Thy slender shoulder strains beneath my weight; + Too fair thou art for work, sweet slave of mine. +Would that this idle breast, reversing fate, + A willing serf to love, supported thine! + +I smell the savage scent of sun-warmed fur + Close in the Jungle, musky, hot and sweet.-- +The air comes from thy shoulder, even as myrrh, + Would we were as the panthers, free to meet. + +The Temple road is steep; I grieve to see + Thy slender ankles bruised among the clods. +Oh, my Beloved, if I might worship thee! + Beauty is greater far than all the Gods. + + +The Rice-boat + + +I slept upon the Rice-boat + That, reef protected, lay +At anchor, where the palm-trees + Infringe upon the bay. +The windless air was heavy + With cinnamon and rose, +The midnight calm seemed waiting, + Too fateful for repose. + +One joined me on the Rice-boat + With wild and waving hair, +Whose vivid words and laughter + Awoke the silent air. +Oh, beauty, bare and shining, + Fresh washen in the bay, +One well may love by moonlight + What one would not love by day! + +Above among the cordage + The night wind hardly stirred, +The lapping of the ripples + Was all the sound we heard. +Love reigned upon the Rice-boat, + And Peace controlled the sea, +The spirit’s consolation, + The senses’ ecstasy. + +Though many things and mighty + Are furthered in the West, +The ancient Peace has vanished + Before To-day’s unrest. +For how among their striving, + Their gold, their lust, their drink, +Shall men find time for dreaming + Or any space to think? + +Think not I scorn the Science + That lightens human pain; +Though man’s reliance often + Is placed on it in vain. +Maybe the long endeavour, + The patience and the strife, +May some day solve the riddle, + The Mystery of Life. + +Perchance I do not value + Things Western as I ought, +The trains,--that take us, whither? + The ships,--that reach, what port? +To me it seems but chaos + Of greed and haste and rage, +The endless, aimless, motion + Of squirrels in a cage. + +Here, where some ruined temple + In solitude decays, +With carven walls still hallowed + With prayers of bygone days, +Here, where the coral outcrops + Make “flowers of the sea,” +The olden Peace yet lingers, + In hushed serenity. + +Ah, silent, silver moonlight, + Whose charm impartial falls +On tanks of sacred water + And squalid city walls, +Whose mystic whiteness hallows + The lowest and the least, +To thee men owe the glamour + That draws them to the East. + +And as this azure water, + Unflecked hy wave or foam, +Conceals in its tranquillity + The dreaded white shark’s home, +So if love be illusion + I ask the dream to stay, +Content to love by moonlight + What I might not love by day. + + +Lallji my Desire + + +“This is no time for saying ‘no’” + Were thy last words to me, +And yet my lips refused the kiss + They might have given thee. + How could I know + That thou wouldst go + To sleep so far from me? + +They took thee to the Burning-Ghat, + Oh, Lallji, my desire, +And now a faint and lonely flame + Uprises from the pyre. +The thin grey smoke in spirals drifts + Across the opal sky. +Would that I were a wife of thine, + And thus with thee could die! + How could I know + That thou wouldst go, + Oh, Lallji, my desire? + The lips I missed + The flames have kissed + Upon the Sandal pyre. + +If one should meet me with a knife + And cut my heart in twain, +Then would he see the smoke arise + From every severed vein. +Such is the burning, inward fire, + The anguish of my pain, +For my Beloved, whose dying lips + Implored a kiss--in vain! + How could I know + That thou wouldst go, + Oh, Lallji, my desire? + Too young thou art + To lay thy heart + Upon the Sandal pyre. + +Thy wife awaits her coming child; + What were a child to me, +If I might take thee in these arms + And face the flames with thee? +The priests are chanting round the pyre, + At dusk they will depart +And leave to thee thy lonely rest, + To me my lonelier heart. + How could I know + Thou lovedst me so? + Upon the Sandal pyre + He lies forsaken. + The flames have taken + My Lallji, my desire! + + +Rutland Gate + + +His back is bent and his lips are blue, + Shivering out in the wet: +“Here’s a florin, my man, for you, + Go and get drunk and forget!” + +Right in the midst of a Christian land, + Rotted with wealth and ease, +Broken and draggled they let him stand + Till his feet on the pavement freeze. + +God leaves His poor in His vicars’ care, + For He hears the church-bells ring, +His ears are buzzing with constant prayer + And the hymns His people sing. + +Can His pity picture the anguish here, + Can He see, through a London fog, +The man who has worked “nigh seventy year” + To die the death of a dog? + +No one heeds him, the crowds pass on. + Why does he want to live? +“Take this florin, and get you gone, + Go and get drunk,--and forgive!” + + +Atavism + + +Deep in the jungle vast and dim, + That knew not a white man’s feet, +I smelt the odour of sun-warmed fur, + Musky, savage, and sweet. + +Far it was from the huts of men + And the grass where Sambur feed; +I threw a stone at a Kadapu tree + That bled as a man might bleed. + +Scent of fur and colour of blood:-- + And the long dead instincts rose, +I followed the lure of my season’s mate,-- + And flew, bare-fanged, at my foes. + + * * * + +Pale days: and a league of laws + Made by the whims of men. +Would I were back with my furry cubs + In the dusk of a jungle den. + + +Middle-age + + +The sins of Youth are hardly sins, + So frank they are and free. +’T is but when Middle-age begins + We need morality. + +Ah, pause and weigh this bitter truth: + That Middle-age, grown cold, +No comprehension has of Youth, + No pity for the Old. + +Youth, with his half-divine mistakes, + She never can forgive, +So much she hates his charm which makes + Worth while the life we live. + +She scorns Old Age, whose tolerance + And calm, well-balanced mind +(Knowing how crime is born of chance) + Can pardon all mankind. + +Yet she, alas! has all the power + Of strength and place and gold, +Man’s every act, through every hour, + Is by her laws controlled. + +All things she grasps with sordid hands + And weighs in tarnished scales. +She neither feels, nor understands, + And yet her will prevails! + +Cold-blooded vice and careful sin, + Gold-lust, blind selfishness,-- +The shortest, cheapest way to win + Some, worse than cheap, success. + +Such are her attributes and aims, + Yet meekly we obey, +While she to guide and order claims + All issues of the day. + +You seek for honour, friendship, truth? + Let Middle-age be banned! +Go, for warm-hearted acts, to Youth; + To Age,--to understand! + + +The Jungle Flower + + +Ah, the cool silence of the shaded hours, +The scent and colour of the jungle flowers! + +Thou art one of the jungle flowers, strange and fierce and fair, + Palest amber, perfect lines, and scented with champa flower. +Lie back and frame thy face in the gloom of thy loosened hair; + Sweet thou art and loved--ay, loved--for an hour. + +But thought flies far, ah, far, to another breast, + Whose whiteness breaks to the rose of a twin pink flower, +Where wind the azure veins that my lips caressed + When Fate was gentle to me for a too-brief hour. + +There is my spirit’s home and my soul’s abode, +The rest are only inns on the traveller’s road. + + +From Behind the Lattice + + +I see your red-gold hair and know + How white the hidden skin must be, +Though sun-kissed face and fingers show +The fervour of the noon-day glow, + The keenness of the sea. + +My longing fancies ebb and flow, + Still circling constant unto this; +My great desire (ah, whisper low) +To plant on thy forbidden snow + The rosebud of a kiss. + +The scarlet flower would spread and grow, + Your whiteness change and flush, +(Be still, my reckless heart, beat slow, +’T is but a dream that stirs thee so!) + To one transparent blush. + + +Wings + + +Was it worth while to forego our wings + To gain these dextrous hands? +Truly they fashion us wonderful things + As the fancy of man demands. + +But--to fly! to sail through the lucid air + From crest to violet crest +Of these great grey mountains, quartz-veined and bare, + Where the white clouds gather and rest. + +Even to flutter from flower to flower,-- + To skim the tops of the trees,-- +In the roseate light of a sun-setting hour + To drift on a sea-going breeze. + +Ay, the hands have marvellous skill + To create us curious things,-- +Baubles, playthings, weapons to kill,-- + But--I would we had chosen wings! + + +Song of the Parao (Camping-ground) + + +Heart, my heart, thou hast found thy home! + From gloom and sorrow thou hast come forth, +Thou who wast foolish, and sought to roam + ’Neath the cruel stars of the frozen North. + +Thou hast returned to thy dear delights; + The golden glow of the quivering days, +The silver silence of tropical nights, + No more to wander in alien ways. + + Here, each star is a well-loved friend; + To me and my heart at the journey’s end. + +These are my people, and this my land, + I hear the pulse of her secret soul. +This is the life that I understand, + Savage and simple and sane and whole. + + Washed in the light of a clear fierce sun,-- + Heart, my heart, the journey is done. + +See! the painted piece of the skies, +Where the rose-hued opal of sunset lies. + Hear the passionate Koel calling + From coral trees, where the dusk is falling. + +See my people, slight limbed and tall. + The maiden’s bosom they scorn to cover: +The breasts that shall call and enthral her lover, + Things of beauty, are free to all. + +Free to the eyes, that think no shame + That a girl should bloom like a forest flower. +Who hold that Love is a sacred flame,-- + Outward beauty a God-like dower. + +Who further regard it as no disgrace +If loveliness lessen to serve the race, +Nor point the finger of jesting scorn +At her who carries the child unborn. + + Ah, my heart, but we wandered far + From the light of the slanting fourfold Star! + +Oh, palm-leaf thatch, where the melon thrives +Beneath the shade of the tamarind tree, +Thou coverest tranquil, graceful lives, +That want so little, that knew no haste, + Nor the bitter goad of a too-full hour; +Whose soft-eyed women are lithe and tall, +And wear no garment below the knee, + Nor veil or raiment above the waist, +But the beautiful hair, that dowers them all, + And falls to the ground in a scented shower. + +The youths return from their swift-flowing bath, + With the swinging grace that their height allows, +Lightly climbing the river-side path, + Their soft hair knotted above their brows. + +Elephants wade the darkening river, + Their bells, which tinkle in minor thirds, +Faintly sweet, like passionate birds + Whose warbling wakens a sense of pain,-- +Thrill through the nerves and make them quiver,-- + Heart, my heart, art thou happy again? + +Here is beauty to feast thine eyes. + Here is the land of thy long desire. +See how the delicate spirals rise + Azure and faint from the wood-fed fire. + +Where the cartmen wearily share their food, + Ere they, by their bullocks, lie down to rest. +Heart of mine, dost thou find it good + This wide red road by the winds caressed? + + This lone Parao, where the fireflies light? + These tom-toms, fretting the peace of night? + +Heart, thou hast wandered and suffered much, + Death has robbed thee, and Life betrayed, +But there is ever a solace for such + In that they are not lightly afraid. + +The strength that found them the fire to love + Finds them also the force to forget. +Thy joy in thy dreaming lives to prove + Thou art not mortally wounded yet. + +Here, ’neath the arch of the vast, clear sky, + Where range upon range the remote grey hills +Far in the distance recede and die, + There is no space for thy trivial ills. + +On the low horizon towards the sea, + Faint yet vivid, the lightnings play, +The lucid air is kind as a kiss, + The falling twilight is cool and grey. + What has sorrow to do with thee? + Love was cruel? thou now art free. + Life unkind? it has given thee this! + + +The Tom-toms + + +Dost thou hear the tom-toms throbbing, +Like a lonely lover sobbing +For the beauty that is robbing him of all his life’s delight? +Plaintive sounds, restrained, enthralling, +Seeking through the twilight falling +Something lost beyond recalling, in the darkness of the night. + +Oh, my little, loved Firoza, +Come and nestle to me closer, +Where the golden-balled Mimosa makes a canopy above, +For the day, so hot and burning, +Dies away, and night, returning, +Sets thy lover’s spirit yearning for thy beauty and thy love. + +Soon will come the rosy warning +Of the bright relentless morning, +When, thy soft caresses scorning, I shall leave thee in the shade. +All the day my work must chain me, +And its weary bonds restrain me, +For I may not re-attain thee till the light begins to fade. + +But at length the long day endeth, +As the cool of night descendeth +His last strength thy lover spendeth in returning to thy breast, +Where beneath the Babul nightly, +While the planets shimmer whitely, +And the fire-flies glimmer brightly, thou shalt give him love and rest. + +Far away, across the distance, +The quick-throbbing drums’ persistence +Shall resound, with soft insistence, in the pauses of delight, +Through the sequence of the hours, +While the starlight and the flowers +Consecrate this love of ours, in the Temple of the Night. + + +Written in Cananore + + +I + +Who was it held that Love was soothing or sweet? +Mine is a painful fire, at its whitest heat. + +Who said that Beauty was ever a gentle joy? +Thine is a sword that flashes but to destroy. + +Though mine eyes rose up from thy Beauty’s banquet, calm and refreshed, +My lips, that were granted naught, can find no rest. + +My soul was linked with thine, through speech and silent hours, +As the sound of two soft flutes combined, or the scent of sister + flowers. + +But the body, that wretched slave of the Sultan, Mind, +Who follows his master ever, but far behind, + +Nothing was granted him, and every rebellious cell +Rises up with angry protest, “It is not well! + +Night is falling; thou hast departed; I am alone; +And the Last Sweetness of Love thou hast not given--I have not known!” + +II + +Somewhere, Oh, My Beloved One, the house is standing, +Waiting for thee and me; for our first caresses. +It may be a river-boat, or a wave-washed landing, +The shade of a tree in the jungle’s dim recesses, + Some far-off mountain tent, ill-pitched and lonely, + Or the naked vault of the purple heavens only. + +But the Place is waiting there; till the Hour shall show it, +And our footsteps, following Fate, find it and know it. + +Where we shall worship the greatest of all the Gods in his pomp and + power,-- +I sometimes think that I shall not care to survive that hour! + + +Feroke + + +The rice-birds fly so white, so silver white, + The velvet rice-flats lie so emerald green, +My heart inhales, with sorrowful delight, + The sweet and poignant sadness of the scene. + +The swollen tawny river seeks the sea, + Its hungry waters, never satisfied, +Beflecked with fallen log and torn-up tree, + Engulph the fisher-huts on either side. + +The current brought a stranger yesterday, + And laid him on the sand beneath a palm, +His worn young face was partly torn away, + His eyes, that saw the world no more, were calm + +We could not close his eyelids, stiff with blood,-- + But, oh, my brother, I had changed with thee +For I am still tormented in the flood, + Whilst thou hast done thy work, and reached the sea. + + +My Desire + + +Fate has given me many a gift + To which men most aspire, +Lovely, precious and costly things, + But not my heart’s desire. + +Many a man has a secret dream + Of where his soul would be, +Mine is a low verandah’d house + In a tope beside the sea. + +Over the roof tall palms should wave, + Swaying from side to side, +Every night we should fall asleep + To the rhythm of the tide. + +The dawn should be gay with song of birds, + And the stir of fluttering wings. +Surely the joy of life is hid + In simple and tender things! + +At eve the waves would shimmer with gold + In the rosy sunset rays, +Emerald velvet flats of rice + Would rest the landward gaze. + +A boat must rock at the laterite steps + In a reef-protected pool, +For we should sail through the starlit night + When the winds were calm and cool. + +I am so tired of all this world, + Its folly and fret and care. +Find me a little scented home + Amongst thy loosened hair. + +Give me a soft and secret place + Against thine amber breast, +Where, hidden away from all mankind, + My soul may come to rest. + +Many a man has a secret dream + Of where his life might be; +Mine is a lovely, lonely place + With sunshine and the sea. + + +Sher Afzul + + +This was the tale Sher Afzul told to me, + While the spent camels bubbled on their knees, +And ruddy camp-fires twinkled through the gloom + Sweet with the fragrance from the Sinjib trees. + +I had a friend who lay, condemned to death + In gaol for murder, wholly innocent, +Yet caught in webs of luckless circumstance;-- + Thou know’st how lies, of good and ill intent, + +Cluster like flies around a justice-court, + Wheel within wheel, revolving screw on screw;-- +But from his prison he escaped and fled, + Keeping his liberty a night or two + +Among the lonely hills, where, shackled still, + He braved a village, seeking for a file +To loose his irons; alas! he lost his life + Through the base sweetness of a woman’s smile. + +Lovely she was, and young, who gave the youth + Kind words, and promised succor and repose, +Till on the quilt of false security + He found exhausted sleep; but, ere he rose, + +Entered the guards, brought by her messenger. + Thus was he captured, slain, and on her breast +Soon shone the guerdon of her treachery, + The price of blood; in gold made manifest. + +I might have killed her? Brave men have died thus. + Revenge demanded keener punishment. +So I walked softly on those lilac hills, + Touching my _rhibab_ lightly as I went. + +I found her fair: ’t was no unpleasant task + In the young spring-time when the fruit-trees flower, +To pass her door, and pause, and pass again, + Shading mine eyes against her beauty’s power. + +Warmly I wooed her, while the almond trees + Broke into fragile clouds of rosy snow. +Her dawning passion feared her lord’s return, + Ever she pleaded softly, “Let us go.” + +But I spoke tenderly, and said, “Beloved, + Shall not thy lips give orders to my heart? +Yet there is one small matter in these hills + Claiming attention ere I can depart. + +“Let us not waste these days; thine absent lord + Cannot return, thou know’st, before the snow +Has melted, and the almond fruits appear.” + This time she answered, “Naught but thee I know!” + +I too was young; I could have loved her well + When her soft eyes across the twilight burned; +But suddenly, around her amber neck, + The golden beads would sparkle as she turned. + +_And I remembered_; swift mine eyelids fell + To hide the hate that festered in my soul, +Ever more deeply, with the rising fear + That Love might wrench Revenge from my control. + +But when at last she, acquiescent, lay + In the sweet-scented shadow of the firs, +Lovely and broken, granting--asking--all, + It was _his_ eyes I met: not hers--not hers! + + * * * + +Three months I waited: all the village talked, + And ever anxiously she urged our flight. +Yet still I lingered, till her beauty paled, + And wearily she came to me at night. + +Then, seeing Love, subservient to Revenge, + Had well achieved his own creative end, +And in his work must soon be manifest, + Compassing thus my duty to my friend, + +One tranquil, sultry night I rode away + Till far behind the purple hills were dim, +Exulting in my spirit, “Thus I leave + Her to her fate, and my revenge to him!” + +Swiftly he struck, her lord; the body lay + With hacked-off breasts, dishonoured, in the Pass. +Months later, riding lonely through the gorge, + I saw it still, among the long-grown grass. + +It was well done; my soul is satisfied. + Friendship is sweet, and Love is sweeter still, +But Vengeance has a savour all its own-- + A strange delight--well known to those who kill. + +Such was the story Afzul told to me, + While wood-fires crackled in the evening breeze, +And blows on hammered tent-pegs stirred the air + Sweet with the fragrance from the Sinjib trees. + +Tent-like, above, up-held by jagged peaks, + The heavy purple of the tranquil sky +Shed its oft-broken promises of peace, + While twinkling stars bemocked the worn-out lie! + + +Nay, not To-night + + +Nay, not to-night;--the slow, sad rain is falling + Sorrowful tears, beneath a grieving sky, +Far off a famished jackal, faintly calling, + Renders the dusk more lonely with its cry. + +The mighty river rushes, sobbing, seawards, + The shadows shelter faint mysterious fears, +I turn mine eyes for consolation theewards, + And find thy lashes tremulous with tears. + +If some new soul, asearch for incarnation, + Should, through our kisses, enter Life again, +It would inherit all our desolation, + All the soft sorrow of the slanting rain. + +When thou desirest Love’s supreme surrender, + Come while the morning revels in the light, +Bulbuls around us, passionately tender, + Singing among the roses red and white. + +Thus, if it be my sweet and sacred duty, + Subservient to the Gods’ divine decree, +To give the world again thy vivid beauty, + I should transmit it with my joy in thee. + +I could not if I would, Beloved, deceive thee. + Wouldst thou not feel at once a feigned caress? +Yet, do not rise, I would not have thee leave me, + My soul needs thine to share its loneliness. + +Let the dim starlight, when the low clouds sunder, + Silver the perfect outline of thy face. +Such faces had the saints; I only wonder + That thine has sought my heart for resting-place. + + +The Dying Prince + + +There are no days for me any more, for the dawn is dark with tears, +There is no rest for me any more, for the night is thick with fears. +There are no flowers nor any fruit, for the sorrowful locusts came, +And the garden is but a memory, the vineyard only a name. + +There is no light in the empty sky, no sail upon the sea, +Birds are yet on their nests perchance, but they sing no more to me. +Past--vanished--faded away--all the joys that were. +My youth died down in a swift decline when they married her to despair. + +“My lord, the crowd in the Audience Hall; how long wilt thou have them + wait?” +I have given my father’s younger son the guidance of the State. +“The steeds are saddled, the Captains call for the orders of the day.” +Tell them that I shall ride no more to the hunting or the fray. + +“Sweet the scent of the Moghra flowers;” Brother, it may be so. +“The young, flushed spring is with us again.” Is it? I did not know. +“The Zamorin’s daughter draweth near, on slender golden feet;” +Oh, a curse upon all sweet things say I, to whom they are no more sweet! + +Dost think that a man as sick as I can compass a woman’s ease? +That the sons of a man who is like to me could ever find rest or peace? +Tell them to marry them where they will, if their longing be so sore, +Such are the things that all men seek, but I shall seek no more. + +All my muscles are fallen in, and the blood deserts my veins, +Every fibre and bone of me is waxen full of pains, +The iron feet of mine enemy’s curse are heavy upon my head, +Look at me and judge for thyself, thou seest I am but dead. + +“Then, who is it, Prince, who has done this thing, has sown such a + bitter seed, +That we hale him forth to the Market-place, bind him and let him bleed, +That the flesh may shudder and wince and writhe, reddening ’neath the + rod.” +Love is the evil-doer, alas! and how shalt thou scourge a God? + + +The Hut + + +Dear little Hut by the rice-fields circled, + That cocoa-nuts shade above. +I hear the voices of children singing, + And that means love. + +When shall the traveller’s march be over, + When shall his wandering cease? +This little homestead is bare and simple, + And that means peace. + +Nay! to the road I am not unfaithful; + In tents let my dwelling be! +I am not longing for Peace or Passion + From any one else but thee, + My Krishna, + Any one else but thee! + + +My Paramour was Loneliness + + +My paramour was loneliness + And lying by the sea, +Soft songs of sorrow and distress + He did beget in me. + +Later another lover came + More meet for my desire, +“Radiant Beauty” was his name; + His sons had wings of fire! + + +The Rice was under Water + + +The Rice was under water, and the land was scourged with rain, +The nights were desolation, and the day was born in pain. +Ah, the famine and the fever and the cruel, swollen streams, +I had died, except for Krishna, who consoled me--in my dreams! + +The Burning-Ghats were smoking, and the jewels melted down, +The Temples lay deserted, for the people left the town. +Yet I was more than happy, though passing strange it seems, +For I spent my nights with Krishna, who loved me--in my dreams! + + +“Surface Rights” + + +Drifting, drifting down the River, + Tawny current and foam-flecked tide, +Sorrowful songs of lonely boatmen, + Mournful forests on either side. + +Thine are the outcrops’ glittering blocks, + The quartz where the rich pyrites gleam, +The golden treasure of unhewn rocks + And the loose gold in the stream. + +But,--the dim vast forests along the shore, + That whisper wonderful things o’ nights,-- +These are things that I value more, + My beautiful “surface rights.” + +Drifting, drifting down the River,-- + Stars a-tremble about the sky-- +Ah, my lover, my heart is breaking, + Breaking, breaking, I know not why. + +Why is Love such a sorrowful thing? + This I never could understand; +Pain and passion are linked together, + Ever I find them hand in hand. + +Loose thy hair in its soft profusion, + Let thy lashes caress thy cheek,-- +These are the things that express thy spirit, + What is the need to explain or speak? + +Drifting, drifting along the River, + Under the light of a wan low moon, +Steady, the paddles; Boatmen, steady,-- + Why should we reach the sea so soon? + +See where the low spit cuts the water, + What is that misty wavering light? +Only the pale datura flowers + Blossoming through the silent night. + +What is the fragrance in thy tresses? + ’T is the scent of the champa’s breath; +The meaning of champa bloom is passion-- + And of datura--death! + +Sweet are thy ways and thy strange caresses, + That sear as flame, and exult as wine. +But I care only for that wild moment + When my soul arises and reaches thine. + +Wistful voices of wild birds calling-- + Far, faint lightning towards the West,-- +Twinkling lights of a Tyah homestead,-- + Ruddy glow on a girl’s bare breast-- + +Drifting boats on a mournful River, + Shifting thoughts in a dreaming mind,-- +We two, seeking the Sea, together,-- + When we reach it,--what shall we find? + + +Shivratri (the Night of Shiva) + +(While the procession passed at Ramesram) + + +Nearer and nearer cometh the car + Where the Golden Goddess towers, +Sweeter and sweeter grows the air + From a thousand trampled flowers. +We two rest in the Temple shade + Safe from the pilgrim flood, +This path of the Gods in olden days + Ran royally red with blood. + +Louder and louder and louder yet + Throbs the sorrowful drum-- +That is the tortured world’s despair, + Never a moment dumb. +Shriller and shriller shriek the flutes, + Nature’s passionate need-- +Paler and paler grow my lips, + And still thou bid’st them bleed. + +Deeper and deeper and deeper still, + Never a pause for pain-- +Darker and darker falls the night + That golden torches stain. +Closer, ah! closer, and still more close, + Till thy soul reach my soul-- +Further, further, out on the tide + From the shores of self-control. + +Glowing, glowing, to whitest heat, + Thy feverish passions burn, +Fiercer and fiercer, cruelly fierce, + To thee my senses yearn. +Fainter and fainter runs my blood + With desperate fight for breath-- +This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love, + Or I should have deemed it Death! + + +The First Wife + + +Ah, my lord, are the tidings true, +That thy mother’s jewels are shapen anew? + +I hear that a bride has chosen been, +The stars consulted, the parents seen. + +Had I been childless, had never there smiled +The brilliant eyes from the face of a child, + +Then at least I had understood +This thing they tell me thou findest good. + +But I have been down to the River of Death, +With painful footsteps and shuddering breath, + +Seven times; thou hast daughters three, +And four young sons who are fair as thee. + +I am not unlovely, over my head +Not twenty summers as yet have sped. + +’T is eleven years since my opening life +Was given to thee by my father’s wife. + +Ah, those days--They were lovely to me, +When little and shy I waited for thee. + +Till I locked my arms round my lover above, +A child in form but a woman in love. + +And I bore thy sons, as a woman should, +Year by year, as is meet and good. + +Thy mother was ever content with me-- +And Oh, Beloved, I worshipped thee! + +And now it’s over; alas, my lord, +Better I felt thy sharpest sword. + +I hear she is youthful and fair as I +When I came to thee in the days gone by. + +Her breasts are firmer; this bosom slips +Somewhat, weighted by children’s lips. + +But they were thy children. Oh, lord my king, +Ah, why hast thy heart devised this thing? + +I am not as the women of this thy land, +Meek and timid, broken to hand. + +From the distant North I was given to thee, +Whose daughters are passionate, fierce and free, + +I could not dwell by a rival’s side, +I seek a bridegroom, as thou a bride. + +The night she yieldeth her youth to thee, +Death shall take his pleasure in me. + + +I Arise and go Down to the River + + +I arise and go down to the River, and currents that come from the sea, +Still fresh with the salt of the ocean, are lovely and precious to me, +The waters are silver and silent, except where the kingfisher dips, +Or the ripples wash off from my shoulder the reddening stain of thy + lips. + +Two things make my joy at this moment: thy gold-coloured beauty by + night, +And the delicate charm of the River, all pale in the day-breaking light, +So cool are the waters’ caresses. Ah, which is the lovelier,--this? +Or the fire that it kindles at midnight, beneath the soft glow of thy + kiss? + +Ah, Love has a mighty dominion, he forges with passionate breath +The links which stretch out to the Future, with forces of life and of + death, +But great is the charm of the River, so soft is the sigh of the reeds, +They give me, long sleepless from passion, the peace that my weariness + needs. + +I float on the breast of my River, and startle the birds on the edge, +To land on a newly found island, a boat that is caught in the sedge, +The rays of the sun are still level, not yet has the heat of the day +Deflowered the mists of the morning, that linger in delicate grey. + +What land was his dwelling whose fancy first gave unto Paradise birth? +He never had swum in my River, or else he had fixed it on earth! +Oh, grace of the palm-tree reflections, Oh, sense of the wind from the + sea! +Oh, divine and serene exultation of one who is lonely and free! + +Ah, delicate breezes of daybreak, so scentless, refreshing and free! +And yet--had my midnight been lonely you had been less lovely to me. +This coolness comes laden with solace, because I am hot from the fire, +As often devotion to virtue arises from sated desire. + +_Gautama came forth from his Palace; he felt the night wind on his + face,_ +_He loathed, as he left, the embraces, the softness and scent of the + place,_ +_But, ah, if his night had been loveless, with no one to solace his + need,_ +_He never had written that sermon which men so devotedly read._ + +Ah, River, thy gentle persuasion! I doubt if I seek any more +The beauty that hurts me and holds me beneath the low roof on the shore. +I loved thee, ay, loved--for a season, but thou, was it love or desire, +The glow of the Sun in his glory, or only the heat of a fire? + +I think not that thou wilt regret me, for thou art too joyous and fair, +So many are keen to caress thee, thy passionate midnights to share. +Thou wilt not have time to remember, before a new love-knot is tied, +The stranger who loved thee and left thee, who drifted away on the tide. + +Two things I have found that are lovely, though most things are sullen + and grey; +One: Peace--but what mortal has found him; and Passion--but when would + he stay? +So I shall return to my River, and floating at ease on its breast, +Shall find, what Love never has given--a sense of most infinite rest. + +When the years have gone by and departed, what thought shall I keep of + this land? +A curl of thy waist-reaching-tresses? a flower received from thy hand? +Nay, if I can fathom the future, I fancy my relic will be +Some shell, my beloved one, the River, has stol’n from the store of the + sea. + + +Listen, Beloved + + +Listen, Beloved, the Casurinas quiver, + Each tassel prays the wind to set it free, +Hark to the frantic sobbing of the river, + Wild to attain extinction in the sea. +All Nature blindly struggles to dissolve +In other forms and forces, thus to solve +The painful riddle of identity. +Ah, that my soul might lose itself in thee! + +Yet, my Beloved One, wherefore seek I union, + Since there is no such thing in all the world,-- +Are not our spirits linked in close communion,-- + And on my lips thy clinging lips are curled? +Thy tender arms are round my shoulders thrown, +I hear thy heart more loudly than my own, +And yet, to my despair, I know thee far, +As in the stellar darkness, star from star. + +Even in times when love with bounteous measure + A simultaneous joy on us has shed, +In the last moment of delirious pleasure, + Ere the sense fail, or any force be fled, +My rapture has been even as a wall, +Shutting out any thought of thee at all! +My being, by its own delight possessed, +Forgot that it was sleeping on thy breast. + +Ay, from his birth each man is vowed and given + To a vast loneliness, ungauged, unspanned, +Whether by pain and woe his soul be riven, + Or all fair pleasures clustered ’neath his hand. +His gain by day, his ecstasy by night,-- +His force, his folly, fierce or faint delight,-- +Suffering or sorrow, fortune, feud, or care,-- +Whate’er he find or feel,--he may not share. + +Lonely we join the world, and we depart + Even as lonely, having lived alone, +The breast that feeds us, the beloved one’s heart, + The lips we kiss,--or curse--alike unknown. +Ay, even these lips of thine, so often kissed, +What certitude have I that they exist? +Alas, it is the truth, though harsh it seems, +I have been loved as sweetly in my dreams. + +Therefore if I should seem too fiercely fond, + Too swift to love, too eager to attain, +Forgive the fervour that would forge beyond + The limits set to mortal joy and pain. +Knowing the soul’s unmeasured loneliness, +My passion must be mingled with distress, +As I, despairing, struggle to draw near +What is as unattainable as dear. + +Thirst may be quenched at any kindly river, + Rest may be found ’neath any arching tree. +No sleep allures, no draughts of love deliver + My spirit from its aching need of thee. +Thy sweet assentiveness to my demands, +All the caressive touches of thy hands,-- +These soft cool hands, with fingers tipped with fire,-- +They can do nothing to assuage desire. + +Sometimes I think my longing soul remembers + A previous love to which it aims and strives, +As if this fire of ours were but the embers + Of some wild flame burnt out in former lives. +Perchance in earlier days I _did_ attain +That which I seek for now so all in vain, +Maybe my soul with thine _was_ fused and wed +In some great night, long since dissolved and dead. + +We may progress; but who shall answer clearly + The riddle of the endless change of things. +Perchance in other days men loved more dearly, + Or Love himself had wider ways and wings, +Maybe we gave ourselves with less control, +Or simpler living left more free the soul, +So that with ease the flesh aside was flung,-- +Or was it merely that _Mankind was young?_ + +Or has my spirit a divine prevision + Of vast vague passions stored in days to be, +When some strong souls shall conquer their division + And two shall be as one, eternally? +Finding at last upon each other’s breast, +Unutterable calm and infinite rest, +While love shall burn with such intense a glow +That both shall die, and neither heed or know. + +Why do I question thus, and wake confusion + In the soft thought that lights thy perfect face, +Ah, shed once more thy perfumed hair’s profusion, + Open thine arms and make my resting place. +Lay thy red lips on mine as heretofore, +Grant me the treasure of thy beauty’s store, +Stifle all thought in one imperious kiss,-- +What shall I ask for more than this,--and this? + + +Oh, Unforgotten and Only Lover + + +Oh, unforgotten and only lover, + Many years have swept us apart, +But none of the long dividing seasons + Slay your memory in my heart. +In the clash and clamour of things unlovely + My thoughts drift back to the times that were, +When I, possessing thy pale perfection, + Kissed the eyes and caressed the hair. + +Other passions and loves have drifted + Over this wandering, restless soul, +Rudderless, chartless, floating always + With some new current of chance control. +But thine image is clear in the whirling waters-- + Ah, forgive--that I drag it there, +For it is so part of my very being + That where I wander it too must fare. + +Ah, I have given thee strange companions, + To thee--so slender and chaste and cool-- +But a white star loses no glimmer of beauty + In all the mud of a miry pool +That holds the grace of its white reflection; + Nothing could fleck thee, nothing could stain, +Thou hast made a home for thy delicate beauty + Where all things peaceful and lovely reign. + +Doubtless the night that my soul remembers + Was a sin to thee, and thine only one. +Thou thinkest of it, if thou thinkest ever, + As a crime committed, a deed ill done. +But for me, the broken, the desert-dweller, + Following Life through its underways,-- +I know if those midnights thou hadst not granted + I had not lived through these after days. + +And that had been well for me; all would say so, + What have I done since I parted from thee? +But things that are wasted, and full of ruin, + All unworthy, even of me. +Yet, it was to me that the gift was given, + No greater joy have the Gods above,-- +That night of nights when my only lover, + Though all reluctant, granted me love. + +For thy beauty was mine, and my spirit knows it, + Never, ah, never my heart forgets, +One thing fixed, in the torrent of changing, + Faults and follies and fierce regrets. +Thine eyes and thy hair, that were lovely symbols + Of that white soul that their grace enshrined, +They are part of me and my life for ever, + In every fibre and cell entwined. + +Men might argue that having known thee + I had grown faithful and pure as thee, +Had turned at the touch of thy grace and glory + From the average pathways trodden by me. +Hadst thou been kinder or I been stronger + It may be even these things had been-- +But one thing is clear to my soul for ever, + I owe my owning of thee to sin. + +Had I been colder I had not reached thee, + Besmirched the ermine, beflecked the snow-- +It was only sheer and desperate passion + That won thy beauty in years ago. +And not for the highest virtues in Heaven, + The utmost grace that the soul can name, +Would I resign what the sin has brought me, + Which I hold glory, and thou--thy shame. + +I talk of sin in the usual fashion, + But God knows what is a sin to me-- +We love more fiercely or love more faintly-- + But I doubt if it matters how these things be. +The best and the worst of us all sink under-- + What I held passion and thou held’st lust-- +What name will it find in a few more seasons, + When we both dissolve in an equal dust? + +If a God there be, and a God seems needed + To make the beauty of things like thee, +He doubtless also, some careless moment, + Mixed the forces that fashioned me. +Also He, for His own good reason-- + Though I care little how these things are-- +Gave me thee, in those few brief midnights, + And that one solace He never can mar. + +Ah me, the stars of such varying heavens + Have watched me, under such alien skies, +Lay thy beauty naked before me + To soothe and solace my world-worn eyes. +For one good gift to me has been given-- + A memory accurate, clear and keen, +That holds the vision, perfect for ever + In charm and glory, of things once seen. + +So I hold thee there, and my fancy wanders + To each known beauty and blue-veined place, +I know how each separate eyelash trembles, + And every shadow that sweeps thy face. +And this is a joy of which none can rob me, + This is a pleasure that none can mar-- +As sweet as thou wert, in that long past midnight, + Even as lovely my memories are. + +Ah, unforgotten and only lover, + If ever I drift across thy thought, +As even a vision unloved, unlovely, + May cross the fancy, uncalled, unsought, +When the years that pass thee have shown, in passing, + That my love, _in its strength at least_, was rare-- +Wilt thou not think--ah, hope of the hopeless-- + E’en as thou wouldst not, thou wilt not--care! + + +Early Love + + +Who says I wrong thee, my half-opened rose? +Little he knows of thee or me, or love.-- +I am so tender of thy fragile youth, +Yea, in my hours of wildest ecstasy, +Keeping close-bitted each careering sense. +Only I give mine eyes unmeasured law +To feed them where they will, and _their_ delight +Was curbed at first, until thy tender shame +Died in the bearing of thy first born joy. + +I am not cruel, my half-opened rose, +Though in the sunshine of my own desire +I have uncurled thy petals to the light +And fed the tendrils of thy dawning sense +With delicate caresses, till they leave +Thee tremulous with the newness of thy joy, +Sharing thy lover’s fire with innocent flame. + +Others will wrong thee, that I well foresee, +Being a man, knowing my fellow men, +And they who, knowing, would blame my love of thee +Contentedly will see thy beauty given, +When the world judges thou art ripe to wed,-- +To the rough rites of marriage, to the pain +And grievous weariness of child-getting,-- +This shall be right and licit in their eyes-- +But it would break my heart, were I alive. + +Yea, this will be; many will doubtless share +The rose whose bud has been my one delight, +And I shall not be there to shield my flower. +Yet, I have taught thee of the ways of men, +Much I have learnt in cities and in courts, +Winnowed to suit thy tender brain,--is thine, +Thus Life shall find thee, not all unprepared +To face its callous, subtle cruelties. + +Still,--it will profit little; I discern +Thou art of those whose love will prove their curse, +--Thou sayest thou lovest me, to thy delight? +Nay, little one, it is not love as yet. +Dear as thou art, and lovely, thou canst not love, +Thy later loves shall show the truth of this. + +Ay, by some subtle signs I know full well +That thou art capable of that great love +Whose glory has the light of unknown heavens, +And makes hot Hell for those who harbour it. + +Naught I can say could save thee from thyself, +Ah, were I half my age! Yet even that, +Had been too old for thy sweet thirteenth year. + +Still, thou art happy now, and glad thine eyes, +When, as the lilac evening gains the sky, +I lay thee, ’twixt thine own soft hair and me, +Kissing thy senses into soft delight. +Ruffling the petals of my half-closed rose +With tender touches, and perpetual care +That no wild moment of mine own delight +Deep in the flower’s heart,--should set the fruit. + +Ah, in the days to come, it well may be, +When thou shalt see thy beauty stained and torn +By the harsh sequel of some future love, +Thy thoughts shall stray to thy first lover’s grave, +And thou shalt murmur, “Ay, but that was love. +They were most wrong who said he did me wrong. +Only I was too young to understand.” + + +Vayu the Wind + + +Ah, Wind, I have always loved thee + Since those far off nights +When I lay beneath the vines + A prey to strange delights, +For among my tresses +Thy soft caresses + Were sweet as a lover’s to me. + +Later thou grewest more wanton, or I more shy, +And after the bath I drew my garments close, +Fearing thy soft persuasion amongst my hair +When thou camest fresh with the scent of some ruffled rose. + +Ah, Wind, thou hast lain with the Desert, + I know her savour well, + And the spices wherewith she scents her breasts-- +She who has known such countless lovers +Yet rarely borne a city among her sands-- + Thou comest as one from a night of love, + Thy breath is broken and hard,-- + Bringing echoes of lonely things, + Vast and cruel, that the soft and golden sands + Buried beneath thin ripples so long ago. + Ah, Wind, thou hast given me lovely things, + The scent of a thousand flowers, +And the heavy perfume of pollen-laden fields, +Strange snatches of wild song from the heart of the dark Bazaar + That thrilled to my very core, +Till I threw the sheet aside and rose to follow,-- + But whither, or what? + +Also, Wind, thou broughtest the breath of the sea, + The sound of its myriad waves. +And in nights when I lay on the lonely sands +Stretching mine arms to thee, + Thou gavest me something--faint and vast and sweet, +Something ineffable, wistful, from far away, + Elsewhere--Beyond-- + +And thou wast kind to me in my times of love, + Cooling my lips + That my lover wore away, +While, wafting the scent from his divided hair, + Thou show’dst the stars between +Far away, and eclipsed by his burning eyes + Even the stars. + +And now I almost foresee the place and the hour + When I shall open my dying lips to thee + And receive a last cool kiss. +Afterwards, Wind, since I have always loved thee,-- + Whirl my dust to the scented heart of a moghra flower, + _His_ flower, but, ah, thou knowest,-- + So often thy kisses have mingled with his and mine. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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