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diff --git a/9920-h/9920-h.htm b/9920-h/9920-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2c26a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/9920-h/9920-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3348 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + <title> + THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS, by Edward Powys Mathers. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * { font-family: Times;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 14pt; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + Table { font-size: 14pt; } + Blockquote { font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic; width: 65%; } + Cite { font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; } + Body { font-size: 14pt; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10% } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H6 { text-align: center; } + .country { font-style: italic; + margin-top: 6em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + H5 { font-style: strong; + margin-top: 5em; + font-size: 14pt; + margin-bottom: 1.5em; } + HR { width: 33%; } + // --> + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Garden of Bright Waters, by Various + +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: The Garden of Bright Waters + One Hundred and Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + +Author: Various + +Translator: Edward Powys Mathers + +Posting Date: December 11, 2011 [EBook #9920] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: October 31, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, Tom Allen +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>The Garden Of Bright Waters</h1> + +<h2>One Hundred And Twenty Asiatic Love Poems</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h3>Translated by Edward Powys Mathers 1920</h3> +<h4>Dedication: To My Wife</h4> + +<hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> + +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +Head in hand, I look at the paper leaf;<br> +It is still white.<br> +<br> +I look at the ink<br> +Dry on the end of my brush.<br> +<br> +My soul sleeps.<br> +Will it ever wake?<br> +<br> +I walk a little in the pouring of the sun<br> +And pass my hands over the higher flowers.<br> +<br> +There is the soft green forest,<br> +There are the sweet lines of the mountains<br> +Carved with snow, red in the sunlight.<br> +<br> +I see the slow march of the clouds,<br> +I hear the crows jeering, and I come back<br> +<br> +To sit and look at the paper leaf,<br> +Which is still white<br> +Under my brush.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850).</cite><br> + +<hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +INTRODUCTION<br> +<br> +<br> +AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO)<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Princess_of_Qulzum">The Princess of Qulzum</a></p> +<p><a href="#Come_my_Beloved">Come, my Beloved!</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ballade_of_Muhammad_Khan">Ballade of Muhammad Khan</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Tavakkul">Ghazal of Tavakkul</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Sayyid_Kamal">Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Sayyid_Ahmad">Ghazal of Sayyid Ahmad</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Pir_Muhammad">Ghazal of Pir Muhammad</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ballade_of_Nurshali">Ballade of Nurshali</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Muhammad_Din_Tilai">Ghazal of Muhammad Din Tilai</a></p> +<p><a href="#Micra">Micra</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ballade_of_Muhammad_Din_Tilai">Ballade of Muhammad Din Tilai</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Mira_1">Ghazal of Mira</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Majid_Shah">Ghazal of Majid Shah</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Mira_2">Ghazal of Mira</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ballade_of_Ajam_the_Washerman">Ballade of Ajam the Washerman</a></p> +<p><a href="#Ghazal_of_Isa_Akhun_Zada">Ghazal of Isa Akhun Zada</a></p> +<br> +<br> +ANNAM<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Bamboo_Garden">The Bamboo Garden</a></p> +<p><a href="#Stranger_Things_Have_Happened">Stranger Things have Happened</a></p> +<p><a href="#Nocturne">Nocturne</a></p> +<p><a href="#Gao_Flower">The Gao Flower</a></p> +<p><a href="#Girl_of_Ke-Mo">The Girl of Ke-Mo</a></p> +<p><a href="#Little_Woman_of_Clear_River">The Little Woman of Clear River</a></p> +<p><a href="#Waiting_to_Marry_a_Student">Waiting to Marry a Student</a></p> +<p><a href="#Song_for_Two">A Song for Two</a></p> +<br> +<br> +ARABIC<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Sand">Sand</a></p> +<p><a href="#Two_Similes">Two Similes</a></p> +<p><a href="#Melodian">Melodian</a></p> +<p><a href="#Lost_Lady">The Lost Lady</a></p> +<p><a href="#Love_Brown_and_Bitter">Love Brown and Bitter</a></p> +<p><a href="#Okhouan">Okhouan</a></p> +<p><a href="#Lying_Down_Alone">Lying Down Alone</a></p> +<p><a href="#Old_Greek_Lovers">Old Greek Lovers</a></p> +<p><a href="#Night_and_Morning">Night and Morning</a></p> +<p><a href="#In_a_Yellow_Frame">In a Yellow Frame</a></p> +<p><a href="#Because_the_Good_are_Never_Fair">Because the Good are Never Fair</a></p> +<p><a href="#White_and_Green_and_Black_Tears">White and Green and Black Tears</a></p> +<p><a href="#Conceit">A Conceit</a></p> +<p><a href="#Values">Values</a></p> +<p><a href="#What_Love_Is">What Love Is</a></p> +<p><a href="#What_Love_Is">The Dancing Heart</a></p> +<p><a href="#Great_Offence">The Great Offence</a></p> +<p><a href="#Escape">An Escape</a></p> +<p><a href="#Three_Queens">Three Queens</a></p> +<p><a href="#Her_Nails">Her Nails</a></p> +<p><a href="#Perturbation_at_Dawn">Perturbation at Dawn</a></p> +<p><a href="#Resurrection_of_the_Tattooed_Girl">The Resurrection of the Tattooed Girl</a></p> +<p><a href="#Moallaka_of_Antar">Moallaka of Antar</a></p> +<p><a href="#Moallaka_of_Amr_Ebn_Kultum">Moallaka of Amr Ebn Kultum</a></p> +<br> +<br> +BALUCHISTAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Comparisons">Comparisons</a></p> +<br> +<br> +BURMA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Canker_in_the_Heart">A Canker in the Heart</a></p> +<br> +<br> +CAMBODIA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Disquiet">Disquiet</a></p> +<br> +<br> +CAUCASUS<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Vengeance">Vengeance</a></p> +<p><a href="#Flight">The Flight</a></p> +<br> +<br> +CHINA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#We_were_Two_Green_Rushes">We were Two Green Rushes</a></p> +<p><a href="#Song_Writer_Paid_with_Air">Song Writer Paid with Air</a></p> +<p><a href="#Song_Writer_Paid_with_Air">The Bad Road</a></p> +<p><a href="#Western_Window">The Western Window</a></p> +<p><a href="#In_Lukewarm_Weather">In Lukewarm Weather</a></p> +<p><a href="#Written_on_White_Frost">Written on White Frost</a></p> +<p><a href="#Flute_of_Marvel">A Flute of Marvel</a></p> +<p><a href="#Willow-Leaf">The Willow-Leaf</a></p> +<p><a href="#Poet_Looks_at_the_Moon">A Poet Looks at the Moon</a></p> +<p><a href="#We_Two_in_a_Park_at_Night">We Two in a Park at Night</a></p> +<p><a href="#Jade_Staircase">The Jade Staircase</a></p> +<p><a href="#Morning_Shower">The Morning Shower</a></p> +<p><a href="#Virtuous_Wife">A Virtuous Wife</a></p> +<p><a href="#Written_on_a_Wall_in_Spring">Written on a Wall in Spring</a></p> +<p><a href="#Poet_Thinks">A Poet Thinks</a></p> +<p><a href="#In_the_Cold_Night">In the Cold Night</a></p> +<br> +<br> +DAGHESTAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Winter_Comes">Winter Comes</a></p> +<br> +<br> +GEORGIA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Part_of_a_Ghazal">Part of a Ghazal</a></p> +<br> +<br> +HINDUSTAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Fard_1">Fard</a></p> +<p><a href="#Incurable">Incurable</a></p> +<p><a href="#Poem">A Poem</a></p> +<p><a href="#Fard_2">Fard</a></p> +<p><a href="#Mortification">Mortification</a></p> +<p><a href="#Fard_3">Fard</a></p> +<br> +<br> +JAPAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Grief_and_the_Sleeve">Grief and the Sleeve</a></p> +<p><a href="#Drink_Song">Drink Song</a></p> +<p><a href="#Boat_Comes_In">A Boat Comes In</a></p> +<p><a href="#Opinion_of_Men">The Opinion of Men</a></p> +<p><a href="#Old_Scent_of_the_Plum-tree">Old Scent of the Plum-tree</a></p> +<p><a href="#Orange_Sleeve">An Orange Sleeve</a></p> +<p><a href="#Invitation">Invitation</a></p> +<p><a href="#Clocks_of_Death">The Clocks of Death</a></p> +<p><a href="#Green_Food_for_a_Queen">Green Food for a Queen</a></p> +<p><a href="#Cushion">The Cushion</a></p> +<p><a href="#Single_Night">A Single Night</a></p> +<p><a href="#At_a_Dance_of_Girls">At a Dance of Girls</a></p> +<p><a href="#Alone_One_Night">Alone One Night</a></p> +<br> +<br> +KAFIRISTAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Walking_Up_A_Hill_At_Dawn">Walking up a Hill at Dawn</a></p> +<p><a href="#Proposal_of_Marriage">Proposal of Marriage</a></p> +<br> +<br> +KAZACKS<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#You_do_not_Want_Me,_Zohrah">You do not Want Me, Zohrah</a></p> +<br> +<br> +KOREA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Tears">Tears</a></p> +<p><a href="#Dream">The Dream</a></p> +<p><a href="#Separation">Separation</a></p> +<br> +<br> +KURDISTAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Paradise">Paradise</a></p> +<br> +<br> +LAOS<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Misadventure">Misadventure</a></p> +<p><a href="#Khap-Salung">Khap-Salung</a></p> +<p><a href="#Holy_Swan">The Holy Swan</a></p> +<br> +<br> +MANCHURIA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Fire_and_Love">Fire and Love</a></p> +<p><a href="#Hearts_of_Women">Hearts of Women</a></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +PERSIA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Promised_Picture_Book">To His Love instead of a Promised Picture Book</a></p> +<p><a href="#Too_Short_a_Night">Too Short a Night</a></p> +<p><a href="#Roses">The Roses</a></p> +<p><a href="#I_Asked_my_Love">I Asked my Love</a></p> +<p><a href="#Request">A Request</a></p> +<p><a href="#See_You_Have_Dancers">See You Have Dancers</a></p> +<br> +<br> +SIAM<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Sighing_Heart">The Sighing Heart</a></p> +<br> +<br> +SYRIA<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Handing_over_the_Gun">Handing over the Gun</a></p> +<br> +<br> +TATARS<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Honey">Honey</a></p> +<br> +<br> +THIBET<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Love_of_the_Archer_Prince">The Love of the Archer Prince</a></p> +<br> +<br> +TURKESTAN<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Distich_1">Distich</a></p> +<p><a href="#Things_Seen_in_Battle">Things Seen in Battle</a></p> +<p><a href="#Hunters_Song">Hunter's Song</a></p> +<br> +<br> +TURKEY<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#Bath">The Bath</a></p> +<p><a href="#Distich_2">Distich</a></p> +<p><a href="#Proverb">A Proverb</a></p> +<br> +<br> +<a href="#Envoy_In_Autumn">ENVOY IN AUTUMN</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<a href="#Translators_Notes">TRANSLATOR'S NOTES</a><br> + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> + +<h1>The Garden Of Bright Waters</h1> + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"> + +<h2 class="country">AFGHANISTAN</h2> + +<h5 style="margin-bottom=0"><a name="Princess_of_Qulzum"></a>THE PRINCESS OF QULZUM</h5> +(BALLADE BY NUR UDDIN)<br> +<br> +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight;<br> +I have seen the daughter of the King of Qulzum passing from grace to grace.<br> +Yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house<br> +And laughed with a thousand graces.<br> +She has a little pearl and coral cap<br> +And rides in a palanquin with servants about her<br> +And claps her hands, being too proud to call.<br> +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.<br> +<br> +"My palanquin is truly green and blue;<br> +I fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure;<br> +I make men run up and down before me,<br> +And am not as young a girl as you pretend.<br> +I am of Iran, of a powerful house, I am pure steel.<br> +I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore."<br> +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.<br> +<br> +I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore,<br> +You walk with a joyous step,<br> +Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy.<br> +A pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens,<br> +I would not that your mother should give my pear-tree<br> +To twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana.<br> +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.<br> +<br> +"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead<br> +Throw rays and light the hearts of far men;<br> +The ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond.<br> +I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine<br> +And my words are chosen.<br> +But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I trust them to you."<br> +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.<br> +<br> +The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things;<br> +And two great saints are my perpetual guards.<br> +There is never a song of <i>Nur Uddin</i> but has in it a great achievement<br> +And is as brilliant as a young hyacinth;<br> +I pour a ray of honey on my disciples,<br> +There is as it were a fire in my ballades.<br> +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Come_my_Beloved"></a>COME, MY BELOVED!</h5> + +Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved!<br> +The doves are moaning and calling and will not cease.<br> + Come, my beloved!<br> +<br> +"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love.<br> +Sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth."<br> + Come, my beloved!<br> +<br> +The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair,<br> +The balance of your neck is like a jacinth;<br> +You have set a star of green between your brows.<br> + Come, my beloved!<br> +<br> +Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills<br> +Are the soft colours of the airy veil<br> +To your rose knee from your curved almond waist.<br> + Come, my beloved!<br> +<br> +Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags,<br> +Stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings.<br> + Come, my beloved!<br> +<br> +<i>Muhammad Din</i> is wandering; he is drunken and mad;<br> +For a year he has been dying. Send for the doctor!<br> + Come, my beloved!<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ballade_of_Muhammad_Khan"></a>BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN</h5> + +She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my idol;<br> +My idol has come to me.<br> +She has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower;<br> +Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the garden.<br> +<br> +Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol;<br> +My idol has come to me.<br> +She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to break.<br> +Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well;<br> +She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her.<br> +<br> +She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my idol;<br> +My idol has come to me.<br> +She has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose;<br> +She breaks not, she is strong.<br> +She has a throne, but comes into the woods for love.<br> +<br> +I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my idol;<br> +My idol has come to me.<br> +She has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword.<br> +The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as Badri.<br> +She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue scarf.<br> +Give your garland to <i>Muhammad Khan</i>, my idol;<br> +My idol has come to me.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Tavakkul"></a>GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL</h5> + +To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city<br> +From which my heart might leap to heaven.<br> +<br> +Her breasts are a garden of white roses<br> +Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves.<br> +<br> +Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing<br> +And doves are moaning with arrows because of her.<br> +<br> +All her body is a flower and her face is <a href="#Note_Shalibagh">Shalibagh</a>;<br> +She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there.<br> +<br> +Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair....<br> +You have killed <i>Tavakkul</i>, the faithful pupil of <a href="#Note_Abdel_Qadir_Gilani">Abdel Qadir Gilani</a>.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Sayyid_Kamal"></a>GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL</h5> + +I am burning, I am crumbled into powder,<br> +I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears.<br> +<br> +Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish;<br> +I return no more, I am counted among the dead.<br> +<br> +I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames;<br> +You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day.<br> +<br> +People have come to see me from far towns,<br> +Great and small, arriving with bare heads,<br> +For I have become one of the great historical lovers.<br> +<br> +In the desire of your red lips<br> +My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses.<br> +It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose<br> +That my heart is taken.<br> +<br> +"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, <i>Sayyid Kamal</i>.<br> +I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless."<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Sayyid_Ahmad"></a>GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD</h5> + +My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly;<br> +Day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly.<br> +<br> +Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly;<br> +Setting quickly and heavily and very quietly.<br> +<br> +If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open;<br> +To-morrow is a day when no man buys,<br> +And the caravan is broken up very quietly.<br> +<br> +The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake<br> +<i>Sayyid Ahmad</i> is walking and mourning very quietly.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Pir_Muhammad"></a>GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD</h5> + +The season of parting has come up with the wind;<br> +My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation.<br> +<br> +Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless.<br> +None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation.<br> +<br> +There is no one near me noble enough to be told;<br> +I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation.<br> +<br> +She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me.<br> +Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of separation.<br> +<br> +I am <i>Pir Muhammad</i> and I am stumbling away to die;<br> +She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ballade_of_Nurshali"></a>BALLADE OF NURSHALI</h5> + +Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path<br> +When your girl friends go laughing by the road.<br> +"Come in haste this dusk; I have become your nightingale,<br> +And the young girls leave me alone because of you.<br> +I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair."<br> + Come in haste this dusk, dear child.<br> +<br> +"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you;<br> +Take my wrist, for there is no shame<br> +And my father has gone out.<br> +Sit near me on this red bed quietly."<br> + Come in haste this dusk, dear child.<br> +<br> +"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips;<br> +Your hand is strong upon my breast;<br> +My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree."<br> + Come in haste this dusk, dear child.<br> +<br> +"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers."<br> +But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair.<br> +This is <i>Nurshali</i> sighing for the garden;<br> + Come in haste this dusk, dear child.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Muhammad_Din_Tilai"></a>GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI</h5> + +The world is fainting,<br> +And you will weep at last.<br> +<br> +The world is fainting<br> +And falling into a swoon.<br> +<br> +The world is turning and changing;<br> +The world is fainting,<br> +And you will weep at last.<br> +<br> +Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain<br> +And pierced a brass hill for the love of Shirin.<br> +The world is fainting,<br> +And you will weep at last.<br> +<br> +Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love<br> +And death became the hostess of his lady.<br> +The world is fainting,<br> +And you will weep at last.<br> +<br> +Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated.<br> +You know the story;<br> +There is no lasting love.<br> +The world is fainting,<br> +And you will weep at last.<br> +<br> +<i>Muhammad Din</i> is ill for the matter of a little honey;<br> +This is a moment to be generous.<br> +The world is fainting,<br> +And you will weep at last.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Micra"></a>MICRA</h5> + +When you lie with me and love me,<br> +You give me a second life of young gold;<br> +And when you lie with me and love me not,<br> +I am as one who puts out hands in the dark<br> +And touches cold wet death.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ballade_of_Muhammad_Din_Tilai"></a>BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI</h5> + +A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair,<br> +And your hair is a panther's shadow.<br> +On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses,<br> +They speak about your beauty in Lahore.<br> +You have your mother's lips;<br> +Your ring is frosted with rubies,<br> +And your hair is a panther's shadow.<br> +<br> +Your ring is frosted with rubies;<br> +I was unhappy and you looked over the wall,<br> +I saw your face among the crimson lilies;<br> +There is no armour that a lover can buy,<br> +And your hair is a panther's shadow.<br> +<br> +"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers<br> +And they go away.<br> +I have fatigued the wise of many lands,<br> +And my hair is a tangle of serpents.<br> +What is the profit of these shawls without you?<br> +And my hair is a panther's shadow."<br> +<br> +"A squadron of my father's men are about me,<br> +And I have woven a collar of yellow flowers.<br> +My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of bhang,<br> +Being a daughter of the daughter of queens.<br> +You cannot touch me because of my palaces,<br> +And my hair is a panther's shadow."<br> +<br> +I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song;<br> +For I am a disciple of <a href="#Note_Abdel_Qadir_Gilani">Abdel Qadir Gilani</a>,<br> +And my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love;<br> +And your hair is a panther's shadow.<br> +<br> +Your ring is frosted with rubies....<br> +<i>Muhammad Din</i> awaits the parting of your scarves;<br> +<i>Tilai</i> is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree;<br> +And your hair is a panther's shadow.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Mira_1"></a>GHAZAL OF MIRA</h5> + +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.<br> +I came to ask for alms and have lost my all,<br> +I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me,<br> +And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips.<br> +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.<br> +<br> +The lamp burns and I must play the green moth.<br> +I have stolen her scented rope of flowers,<br> +But the women caught me and built a little gaol<br> +About my heart with your old playthings.<br> +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.<br> +<br> +<i>Mira</i> is a mountain goat that climbs to die<br> +Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief;<br> +It is the hour; make haste.<br> +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Majid_Shah"></a>GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH</h5> + +Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me;<br> +The black dust has covered my pretty one.<br> +<br> +My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend;<br> +How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here.<br> +<br> +I can only dream of the stature of my friend;<br> +The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden.<br> +<br> +Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers;<br> +I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey.<br> +<br> +I am <i>Majid Shah</i>, a slave that ministers to the dead;<br> +<a href="#Note_Abdel_Qadir_Gilani">Abdel Qadir Gilani</a>, even the Master, shall not save me.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Mira_2"></a>GHAZAL OF MIRA</h5> + +The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men<br> +Is buried alive under the vault of Time.<br> +<br> +Autumn comes pillaging gardens;<br> +The bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling.<br> +<br> +Wars start up wherever your eye glances,<br> +And the young men moan marching on to the batteries.<br> +<br> +<i>Mira</i> is the unkempt old man you see on the road;<br> +He has taken his death-wound in battle.<br> +<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ballade_of_Ajam_the_Washerman"></a>BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN</h5> + +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar,<br> +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me.<br> +Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow;<br> +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart;<br> +Come to me.<br> +<br> +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart<br> +Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings;<br> +Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart,<br> +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me.<br> +<br> +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more beautiful<br> +Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings.<br> +The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope;<br> +But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves.<br> +<br> +Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves,<br> +And give yourself once to <i>Ajam</i>. Slip away weeping,<br> +Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me.<br> +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar,<br> +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Ghazal_of_Isa_Akhun_Zada"></a>GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA</h5> + +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me;<br> +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing,<br> +Lend your small ears to my quick sighing.<br> +Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death;<br> +And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes.<br> +Life is a tale ill constructed without love.<br> +Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me;<br> +I am at your door wasted and white and dying.<br> +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.<br> +<br> +This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam<br> +Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom.<br> +All the world has spied on us and seen our love,<br> +And in four days or five days will be whispering evil.<br> +Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever;<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.<br> +After that we will both of us go to prison.<br> +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.<br> +<br> +My quick sighings carry a tender promise;<br> +I will have time to remember in the battle,<br> +Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me.<br> +The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword,<br> +Though I have foes more than the stars<br> +Of a thousand valley starlights.<br> +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.<br> +<br> +I am as strong as <a href="#Note_Sikander">Sikander</a>, I am as strong as death;<br> +You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me,<br> +And laughing bloody battalions following after.<br> +<i>Isa Gal</i> is stronger than God;<br> +Do not whip me, do not whip me,<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me;<br> +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me.<br> +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;<br> +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">ANNAM</h2> + +<h5><a name="Bamboo_Garden"></a>THE BAMBOO GARDEN</h5> + +Old bamboos are about my house,<br> +And the floor of my house is untidy with old books.<br> +It is sweet to rest in the shade of it<br> +And read the poems of the masters.<br> +<br> +But I remember a delightful fisherman<br> +Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening.<br> +In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float<br> +Over the lakes and rivers,<br> +Watching his nets and singing.<br> +<br> +A sweet boy promised to marry me,<br> +But he went away and left<br> +Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift<br> +In the middle of a river.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Stranger_Things_Have_Happened"></a>STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED</h5> + +Do not believe that ink is always black,<br> + Or lime white, or lemon sour;<br> +You cannot ring one bell from two pagodas,<br> +You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son.<br> + I found you binding an orange spray<br> + Of flowers with white flowers;<br> + I never noticed the flower gathering<br> + Of other village ladies.<br> +Would you like me to go and see your father and mother?<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Nocturne"></a>NOCTURNE</h5> + +It is late at night<br> +And the North Star is shining.<br> +The mist covers the rice-fields<br> +And the bamboos<br> +Are whispering full of crickets.<br> +The watch beats on the iron-wood gong,<br> +And priests are ringing the pagoda bells.<br> +We hear the far-away games of peasants<br> +And distant singing in the cottages.<br> +<br> +It is late at night.<br> +As we talk gently,<br> +Sitting by one another,<br> +Life is as beautiful as night.<br> +The red moon is rising<br> +On the mountain side<br> +Like a fire started among the trees.<br> +There is the North Star<br> +Shining like a paper lantern.<br> +The light air brings dew to our faces<br> +And the sound of tamtams beaten far away.<br> +Let us sit like this all night.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Gao_Flower"></a>THE GAO FLOWER</h5> + +I am the Gao flower high in a tree,<br> +You are the grass Long Mai on the path-side.<br> +When heat comes down after the dews of morning<br> +The flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass,<br> +The grass Long Mai that keeps the fallen Gao.<br> +<br> +Folk who let their daughters grow<br> +Without achieving a husband<br> +Might easily forget to fence their garden,<br> +Or let their radishes grow flower and rank<br> +When they could eat them ripe and tender.<br> +<br> +Come to me, you that I see walk<br> +Every night in a red turban;<br> +Young man with the white turban, come to me.<br> +We will plant marrows together in a garden,<br> +And there may be little marrows for your children.<br> +<br> +I will dye your turban blue and red and yellow,<br> +You with the white turban.<br> +You that are passing with a load of water,<br> +I call you<br> +And you do not even turn your head.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Girl_of_Ke-Mo"></a>THE GIRL OF KE-MO</h5> + +I'm a girl of Ke-Mo village<br> +Selling my rice wine on the road.<br> +Mine is the strongest rice wine in the land,<br> +Though my bottle is so patched and dirty.<br> +These silly rags are not my body,<br> +The parts you cannot see are counted pleasant;<br> +But you are just too drunk to drink my wine,<br> +And just too plain to lie down on my mat.<br> +He who would drink the wine of the girl of Ke-Mo<br> +Needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Little_Woman_of_Clear_River"></a>THE LITTLE WOMAN OF CLEAR RIVER</h5> + +Clear River twists nine times about<br> +Clear River; but so deep<br> +That none can see the green sand.<br> +You hear the birds about Clear River:<br> +Dik, dik, dik, dik, Diu dik.<br> +<br> +A little woman with jade eyes<br> +Leans on the wall of a pavilion.<br> +She has the moonrise in her heart<br> +And the singing of love songs<br> +Comes to her up the river.<br> +<br> +She stands and dreams for me<br> +Outside the house by the bamboo door.<br> +In a minute<br> +I will leave my shadow<br> +And talk to her of poetry and love.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Waiting_to_Marry_a_Student"></a>WAITING TO MARRY A STUDENT</h5> + +I still walk slowly on the river bank<br> +Where I came singing,<br> +And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun<br> +Setting red in the river.<br> +I want Autumn,<br> +I want the leaves to begin falling at once,<br> +So that the cold time may bring us close again<br> +Like <a href="#Note_Kien_Niu">K'ien Niü</a> and <a href="#Note_Kien_Niu">Chik Nü</a>, the two stars.<br> +<br> +Each year when Autumn comes<br> +The crows make a black bridge across the milky sea,<br> +And then these two poor stars<br> +Can run together in gold and be at peace.<br> +Darling, for my sake work hard<br> +And be received with honour at the Examinations.<br> +<br> +Since I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun<br> +I have forgotten how to sing<br> +And how to paddle the canoe across the lake.<br> +I know how to sit down and how to be sad,<br> +And I know how to say nothing;<br> +But every other art has slipped away.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Song_for_Two"></a>A SONG FOR TWO</h5> + +I have lacquered my teeth to find a husband.<br> +<br> +And I have need of a wife.<br> +Give me a kiss and they will marry us<br> +At Mo-Lao, my village.<br> +<br> +I will marry you if you will wait for me,<br> +Wait till the banana puts forth branches,<br> +And fruit hangs heavy on the Sung-tree,<br> +And the onion flowers;<br> +Wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs,<br> +And the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Annam.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">ARABIC</h2> + +<h5><a name="Sand"></a>SAND</h5> + +The sand is like acres of wet milk<br> +Poured out under the moonlight;<br> +It crawls up about your brown feet<br> +Like wine trodden from white stars.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Two_Similes"></a>TWO SIMILES</h5> + +You have taken away my cloak,<br> +My cloak of weariness;<br> +Take my coat also,<br> +My many-coloured coat of life....<br> +<br> +On this great nursery floor<br> +I had three toys,<br> +A bright and varnished vow,<br> +A Speckled Monster, best of boys,<br> +True friend to me, and more<br> +Beloved and a thing of cost,<br> +My doll painted like life; and now<br> +One is broken and two are lost.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Melodian"></a>MELODIAN</h5> + +I have been at this shooting-gallery too long.<br> +It is monotonous how the little coloured balls<br> +Make up and down on their silvery water thread;<br> +It would be pleasant to have money and go instead<br> +To watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls<br> +Of the World-famous Caravan of Dance and Song.<br> +<br> +And I want to go out beyond the turf fires there,<br> +After I've looked at your just smiling face,<br> +To that untented silent dark blue nighted place;<br> +And wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb<br> +And drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ...<br> +You have the most understanding face in all the fair.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Lost_Lady"></a>THE LOST LADY</h5> + +You are the drowned,<br> +Star that I found<br> +Washed on the rim of the sea<br> +Before the morning.<br> +You are the little dying light<br> +That stopped me in the night.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Love_Brown_and_Bitter"></a>LOVE BROWN AND BITTER</h5> + +You know so well how to stay me with vapours<br> +Distilled expertly to that unworthy end;<br> +You know the poses of your body I love best<br> +And that I am cheerful with your head on my breast,<br> +You know you please me by disliking one friend;<br> +You read up what amuses me in the papers.<br> +<br> +Who knows me knows I am not of those fools<br> +That gets tired of a woman who is kind to them,<br> +Yet you know not how stifled you render me<br> +By learning me so well, how I long to see<br> +An unpractised girl under your clever phlegm,<br> +A soul not so letter-perfect in the rules.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Okhouan"></a>OKHOUAN</h5> + +A mole shows black<br> +Between her mouth and cheek.<br> +<br> +As if a negro,<br> +Coming into a garden,<br> +Wavered between a purple rose<br> +And a scarlet camomile.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Lying_Down_Alone"></a>LYING DOWN ALONE</h5> + +I shall never see your tired sleep<br> +In the bed that you make beautiful,<br> +Nor hardly ever be a dream<br> +That plays by your dark hair;<br> +Yet I think I know your turning sigh<br> +And your trusting arm's abandonment,<br> +For they are the picture of my night,<br> +My night that does not end.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Old_Greek_Lovers"></a>OLD GREEK LOVERS</h5> + +They put wild olive and acanthus up<br> +With tufts of yellow wool above the door<br> +When a man died in Greece and in Greek Islands,<br> + Grey stone by the blue sea,<br> +Or sage-green trees down to the water's edge.<br> + How many clanging years ago<br> + I, also withering into death, sat with him,<br> + Old man of so white hair who only,<br> + Only looked past me into the red fire.<br> +At last his words were all a jumble of plum-trees<br> +And white boys smelling of the sea's green wine<br> +And practice of his lyre. Suddenly<br> + The bleak resurgent mind<br> +Called wonderfully clear: "What mark have I left?"<br> + Crying girls with wine and linen<br> +Washed the straight old body and wrapped up,<br> + And set the doorward feet.<br> +Later for me also under Greek sun<br> +The pendant leaves in green and bitter flakes<br> +Blew out to join the wastage of the world,<br> +And wool, I take it, in the nests of birds.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_John_Duncan">John Duncan</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Night_and_Morning"></a>NIGHT AND MORNING</h5> + +The great brightness of the burning of the stars,<br> +Little frightened love,<br> +Is like your eyes,<br> +When in the heavy dusk<br> +You question the dark blue shadows,<br> +Fearing an evil.<br> +<br> +Below the night<br> +The one clear line of dawn;<br> +As it were your head<br> +Where there is one golden hair<br> +Though your hair is very brown.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Moattaz) (ninth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="In_a_Yellow_Frame"></a>IN A YELLOW FRAME</h5> + +Her hand tinted to gold with henna<br> +Gave me a cup of wine like gold water,<br> +And I said: The moon rise, the sun rise.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Hefny-bey-Nassif (contemporary).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Because_the_Good_are_Never_Fair"></a>BECAUSE THE GOOD ARE NEVER FAIR</h5> + +When she appears the daylight envies her garment,<br> +The wanton daylight envies her garment<br> +To show it to the jealous sun.<br> +<br> +And when she walks,<br> +All women tall and tiny<br> +Want her figure and start crying.<br> +<br> +Because of your mouth,<br> +Long life to the Agata valley,<br> +Long life to pearls.<br> +<br> +Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks,<br> +But I am undecided,<br> +For there is a hint of the tops of flames<br> +In their purple shining.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Ahmed Bey Chawky (contemporary).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="White_and_Green_and_Black_Tears"></a>WHITE AND GREEN AND BLACK TEARS</h5> + +Why are your tears so white?<br> +Dear, I have wept so long<br> +That my old tears grow white like my old hair.<br> +<br> +Why are your tears so green?<br> +Dear, the waters are wept away<br> +And the green gall is flowing.<br> +<br> +Why are your tears so black?<br> +Dear, the weeping is over<br> +And the black flash you loved is breaking.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Farid) (thirteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Conceit"></a>A CONCEIT</h5> + +I hide my love,<br> +I will not say her name.<br> +And yet since I confess<br> +I love, her name is told.<br> +You know that if I love<br> +It must be ... Whom?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Ebn Kalakis Abu El Fath Nasrallah (eleventh century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Values"></a>VALUES</h5> + +Since there is excitement<br> +In suffering for a woman,<br> +Let him burn on.<br> +The dust in a wolf's eyes<br> +Is balm of flowers to the wolf<br> +When a flock of sheep has raised it.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="What_Love_Is"></a>WHAT LOVE IS</h5> + +Love starts with a little throb in the heart,<br> +And in the end one dies<br> +Like an ill-treated toy.<br> +Love is born in a look or in four words,<br> +The little spark that burnt the whole house.<br> +Love is at first a look,<br> +And then a smile,<br> +And then a word,<br> +And then a promise,<br> +And then a meeting of two among flowers.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Dancing_Heart"></a>THE DANCING HEART</h5> + +When she came she said:<br> +You know that your love is granted,<br> +Why is your heart trembling?<br> +<br> +And I:<br> +You are bringing joy for my heart<br> +And so my heart is dancing.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Urak El Hutail.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Great_Offence"></a>THE GREAT OFFENCE</h5> + +She seemed so bored,<br> +I wanted to embrace her by surprise;<br> +But then the scalding waters<br> +Fell from her eyes and burnt her roses.<br> +<br> +I offered her a cup....<br> +<br> +And came to paradise....<br> +<br> +Ah, sorrow,<br> +When she rose from the waves of wine<br> +I thought she would have killed me<br> +With the swords of her desolation....<br> +<br> +Especially as I had tied her girdle<br> +With the wrong bow.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Escape"></a><a href="#Note_Escape">AN ESCAPE</a></h5> + +She was beautiful that evening and so gay....<br> +<br> +In little games<br> +My hand had slipped her mantle,<br> +I am not sure<br> +About her skirts.<br> +<br> +Then in the night's curtain of shadows,<br> +Heavy and discreet,<br> +I asked and she replied:<br> +To-morrow.<br> +<br> +Next day I came<br> +Saying, Remember.<br> +<br> +Words of a night, she said, to bring the day.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Three_Queens"></a>THREE QUEENS</h5> + +Three sweet drivers hold the reins,<br> +And hold the places of my heart.<br> +A great people obeys me,<br> +But these three obey me not.<br> +Am I then a lesser king than love?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Haroun El Raschid (eighth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Her_Nails"></a>HER NAILS</h5> + +She is as wise as Hippocrates,<br> +As beautiful as Joseph,<br> +As sweet-voiced as David,<br> +As pure as Mary.<br> +<br> +I am as sad as Jacob,<br> +As lonely as Jonah,<br> +As patient as Job,<br> +As unfortunate as Adam.<br> +<br> +When I met her again<br> +And saw her nails<br> +Prettily purpled,<br> +I reproached her for making up<br> +When I was not there.<br> +<br> +She told me gently<br> +That she was no coquette,<br> +But had wept tears of blood<br> +Because I was not there,<br> +And maybe she had dried her eyes<br> +With her little hands.<br> +<br> +I would like to have wept before she wept;<br> +But she wept first<br> +And has the better love.<br> +Her eyes are long eyes,<br> +And her brows are the bows of subtle strong men.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Perturbation_at_Dawn"></a>PERTURBATION AT DAWN</h5> + +Day comes....<br> +<br> +And when she sees the withering of the violet garden<br> +And the saffron garden flowering,<br> +The stars escaping on their black horse<br> +And dawn on her white horse arriving,<br> +She is afraid.<br> +<br> +Against the sighing of her frightened breasts<br> +She puts her hand;<br> +I see what I have never seen,<br> +Five perfect lines on a crystal leaf<br> +Written with coral pens.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Ebn Maatuk (seventeenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Resurrection_of_the_Tattooed_Girl"></a>THE RESURRECTION OF THE TATTOOED GIRL</h5> + +Her hands are filled with what I lack,<br> +And on her arms are pictures,<br> +Looking like files of ants forsaking the battalions,<br> +Or hail inlaid by broken clouds on green lawns.<br> +<br> +She fears the arrows of her proper eyes<br> +And has her hands in armour.<br> +<br> +She has stretched her hands in a cup to me,<br> +Begging for my heart.<br> +She has circled me with the black magic of her brows<br> +And shot small arrows at me.<br> +<br> +The black curl that lies upon her temple<br> +Is a scorpion pointing his needle at the stars.<br> +<br> +Her eyes seem tight, tight shut;<br> +But I believe she is awake.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Moallaka_of_Antar"></a>MOALLAKA</h5> + +The poets have muddied all the little fountains.<br> +<br> +Yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house?<br> +<br> +O dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa,<br> +Speak to me, for my camel and I salute you.<br> +<br> +My camel is as tall as a tower, and I make him stand<br> +And give my aching heart to the wind of the desert.<br> +<br> +O erstwhile dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa;<br> +And my tribe in the valleys of Hazn and Samna<br> +And in the valley of Motethalem!<br> +<br> +Salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins<br> +Since Oum El Aythan gathered and went away.<br> +<br> +Now is the dwelling of Abla<br> +In a valley of men who roar like lions.<br> +It will be hard to come to you, O daughter of Makhram.<br> +<br> + * * * * *<br> +<br> +Abla is a green rush<br> +That feeds beside the water.<br> +<br> +But they have taken her to Oneiza<br> +And my tribe feeds in lazy Ghailam valley.<br> +<br> +They fixed the going, and the camels<br> +Waked in the night and evilly prepared.<br> +<br> +I was afraid when I saw the camels<br> +Standing ready among the tents<br> +And eating grain to make them swift.<br> +<br> +I counted forty-two milk camels,<br> +Black as the wings of a black crow.<br> +<br> +White and purple are the lilies of the valley,<br> +But Abla is a branch of flowers.<br> +<br> +Who will guide me to the dwelling of Abla?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of <a href="#Note_Antar">Antar</a> (late sixth and early seventh centuries).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Moallaka_of_Amr_Ebn_Kultum"></a>MOALLAKA</h5> + +Rise and hold up the curved glass,<br> +And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar.<br> +<br> +Pour wine for us, whose golden colour<br> +Is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron.<br> +<br> +Pour us wine to make us generous<br> +And carelessly happy in the old way.<br> +<br> +Pour us wine that gives the miser<br> +A sumptuous generosity and disregard.<br> +<br> +O Oum-Amr, you have prevented me from the cup<br> +When it should have been moving to the right;<br> +And yet the one of us three that you would not serve<br> +Is not the least worthy.<br> +<br> +How many cups have I not emptied at Balbek,<br> +And emptied at Damas and emptied at Cacerin!<br> +<br> +More cups! more cups! for death will have his day;<br> +His are we and he ours.<br> +<br> + * * * * *<br> +<br> +By herself she is fearless<br> +And gives her arms to the air,<br> +The limbs of a long camel that has not borne.<br> +<br> +She gives the air her breasts,<br> +Unfingered ivory.<br> +<br> +She gives the air her long self and her curved self,<br> +And hips so round and heavy that they are tired.<br> +<br> +All these noble abundances of girlhood<br> +Make the doors divinely narrow and myself insane.<br> +<br> +Columns of marble and ivory in the old way,<br> +And anklets chinking in gold and musical bracelets.<br> +<br> +Without her I am a she-camel that has lost,<br> +And howls in the sand at night.<br> +<br> +Without her I am as sad as an old mother<br> +Hearing of the death of her many sons.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Arabic of Amr Ebn Kultum (seventh century).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">BALUCHISTAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Comparisons"></a>COMPARISONS</h5> + +Touch my hands with your fingers, yellow wallflower.<br> +Did God use a bluer paint<br> +Painting the sky for the gold sun<br> +Or making the sea about your two black stars?<br> +<br> +Treasure the touches of my fingers.<br> +God did not spread his bluest paint<br> +On a hollow sky or a girl's eye,<br> +But on a topaz chain, from you to me.<br> +<br> +Touch my temples with your fingers, scarlet rose.<br> +Did God use a stronger light<br> +When He fashioned and dropped the sun into the sky<br> +Or dropped your black stars into their blue sea?<br> +<br> +Treasure the touches of my fingers.<br> +God did not spend His strongest light<br> +On a sun above or a look of love,<br> +But on a round gold ring, from you to me.<br> +<br> +Touch my cheeks with your fingers, blue hyacinth.<br> +Did God use a whiter silk<br> +Weaving the veil for your fevered roses,<br> +Or spinning the moon that lies across your face?<br> +<br> +Treasure the touches of my fingers.<br> +God did not waste His whitest web<br> +On veils of silk or moons of milk,<br> +But on a marriage cap, from you to me.<br> +<br> +<cite>Popular Song of Baluchistan.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">BURMA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Canker_in_the_Heart"></a>A CANKER IN THE HEART</h5> + +I made a bitter song<br> +When I was a boy,<br> +About a girl<br> +With hot earth-coloured hair,<br> +Who lived with me<br> +And left me.<br> +<br> +I made a sour song<br> +On her marriage-day,<br> +That ever his kisses<br> +Would be ghosts of mine,<br> +And ever the measure<br> +Of his halting love<br> +Flow to my music.<br> +<br> +It was a silly song,<br> +Dear wife with cool black hair,<br> +And yet when I recall<br> +(At night with you asleep)<br> +That once you gave yourself<br> +Before we met,<br> +I do not quite well know<br> +What song to make.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Burmese (nineteenth century) (¿ by Asmapur).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">CAMBODIA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Disquiet"></a>DISQUIET</h5> + +Brother, my thought of you<br> +In this letter on a palm-leaf<br> +Goes up about you<br> +As her own scent<br> +Goes up about the rose.<br> +<br> +The bracelets on my arms<br> +Have grown too large<br> +Because you went away.<br> +<br> +I think the sun of love<br> +Melted the snow of parting,<br> +For the white river of tears has overflowed.<br> +<br> +But though I am sad<br> +I am still beautiful,<br> +The girl that you desired<br> +In April.<br> +<br> +Brother, my love for you<br> +In this letter on a palm-leaf<br> +Brightens about you<br> +As her own rays<br> +Brighten about the moon.<br> +<br> +<cite>Love Poem of Cambodia.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">CAUCASUS</h2> + +<h5><a name="Vengeance"></a>VENGEANCE</h5> + +Aischa was mine,<br> +My tender cousin,<br> +My blond lover;<br> +And you knew our love,<br> +Uncle without bowels,<br> +Foul old man.<br> +<br> +For a few weights of gold<br> +You sold her to the blacks,<br> +And they will drive a stinking trade<br> +At the dark market;<br> +Your slender daughter,<br> +The free child of our hills.<br> +<br> +She will go to serve the bed<br> +Of a fat man with no God,<br> +A guts that cannot walk,<br> +A belly hiding his own feet,<br> +A rolling paunch<br> +Between itself and love.<br> +<br> +She was slim and quick<br> +Like the antelope of our hills<br> +When he comes down in the summer-time<br> +To bathe in the pools of Tereck,<br> +Her stainless flesh<br> +Was all moonlight.<br> +<br> +Her long silk hair<br> +Was of so fine a gold<br> +And of so honey-like a brown<br> +That bees flew there,<br> +And her red lips<br> +Were flowers in sunlight.<br> +<br> +She was fair, alas, she was fair,<br> +So that her beauty goes<br> +To a garden of dying flowers,<br> +Made one with the girls that mourn<br> +And wither for light and love<br> +Behind the harem bars.<br> +<br> +And you have dirty dreams<br> +That she will be Sultane,<br> +And you will drink and boast<br> +And roll about,<br> +The grinning ancestor<br> +Of little kings.<br> +<br> +Hugging your very wicked gold<br> +Within a greasy belt,<br> +You paddle exulting like a bald ape<br> +That glories to defile,<br> +Unmindful of two hot young streams<br> +Of tears.<br> +<br> +You stole this dirty gold,<br> +For this gold means<br> +Your daughter's freedom<br> +And your nephew's love,<br> +Two fresh and lovely things<br> +Groaning within your belt.<br> +<br> +The sunny playing of our childhood<br> +At the green foot of Elbours,<br> +The starry playing of our youth<br> +Beyond the flowery fences,<br> +These sigh their lost delights<br> +Within your belt.<br> +<br> +Give me the gold;<br> +Damn you, give me the gold....<br> +You kill my mercy<br> +When you kill my love....<br> +Hold up your trembling sword;<br> +For this is death.<br> +<br> + * * * * *<br> +<br> +I take the belt from the dead loins<br> +That put away my love,<br> +And turn my sweet white horse<br> +After the caravan....<br> +With dirty gold and clean steel<br> +I'll set Aischa free.<br> +<br> +<cite>Ballad of the Caucasus.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Flight"></a>THE FLIGHT</h5> + +Softly into the saddle<br> +Of my black horse with white feet;<br> +Your brothers are frowning<br> +And grasping swords in sleep.<br> +My rifle is as clean as moonlight,<br> +My flints are new;<br> +My long grey sword is sighing<br> +In his blue sheath.<br> +Fatima gave me my grey sword<br> +Of Temrouk steel,<br> +Damascened in red gold<br> +To cut a pathway for the feet of love.<br> +<br> +My eye is dark and keen,<br> +My hand has never trembled on the sword.<br> +If your brothers rise and follow<br> +On their stormy horses,<br> +If they stretch their hot hands<br> +To catch you from my breast,<br> +My rifle shall not sing to them,<br> +My steel shall spare.<br> +My rifle's song is for my yellow girl,<br> +My eye is dark and keen,<br> +I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart<br> +That ever lady loved with in the world.<br> +<br> +My hand upon the sword<br> +Shall be so strong,<br> +He'll find the little laughing place<br> +Where you dance in my breast;<br> +And we'll have no more of the silly world<br> +Where our lips must lie apart.<br> +We'll let death pour our souls<br> +Into one cup,<br> +And mount like joyous birds to God<br> +With hearts on fire,<br> +And God will mingle us into one shape<br> +In an eternal garden of gold stars.<br> +<br> +<cite>Love Ballad of the Caucasus.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">CHINA</h2> + +<h5><a name="We_were_Two_Green_Rushes"></a>WE WERE TWO GREEN RUSHES</h5> + +We were two green rushes by opposing banks,<br> + And the small stream ran between.<br> +Not till the water beat us down<br> + Could we be brought together,<br> +Not till the winter came<br> +Could we be mingled in a frosty sleep,<br> + Locked down and close.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of <a href="#Note_J_Wing">J. Wing</a> (nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Song_Writer_Paid_with_Air"></a>SONG WRITER PAID WITH AIR</h5> + +I sit on a white wood box<br> +Smeared with the black name<br> +Of a seller of white sugar.<br> +The little brown table is so dirty<br> +That if I had food<br> +I do not think I could eat.<br> +<br> +How can I promise violets drunken in wine<br> +For your amusement,<br> +How can I powder your blue cotton dress<br> +With splinters of emerald,<br> +How can I sing you songs of the amber pear,<br> +Or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers<br> +Mingled scents in a rose agate bowl?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of <a href="#Note_J_Wing">J. Wing</a> (nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Bad_Road"></a>THE BAD ROAD</h5> + +I have seen a pathway shaded by green great trees,<br> +A road bordered by thickets light with flowers.<br> +<br> +My eyes have entered in under the green shadow,<br> +And made a cool journey far along the road.<br> +<br> +But I shall not take the road,<br> +Because it does not lead to her house.<br> +<br> +When she was born<br> +They shut her little feet in iron boxes,<br> +So that my beloved never walks the roads.<br> +<br> +When she was born<br> +They shut her heart in a box of iron,<br> +So that my beloved shall never love me.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Western_Window"></a>THE WESTERN WINDOW</h5> + +At the head of a thousand roaring warriors,<br> +With the sound of gongs,<br> +My husband has departed<br> +Following glory.<br> +<br> +At first I was overjoyed<br> +To have a young girl's liberty.<br> +<br> +Now I look at the yellowing willow-leaves;<br> +They were green the day he left.<br> +<br> +I wonder if he also was glad?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="In_Lukewarm_Weather"></a>IN LUKEWARM WEATHER</h5> + +The women who were girls a long time ago<br> +Are sitting between the flower bushes<br> +And speaking softly together:<br> +<br> +"They pretend that we are old and have white hair;<br> +They say also that our faces<br> +Are not like the spring moons.<br> +<br> +"Perhaps it is a lie;<br> +We cannot see ourselves.<br> +<br> +"Who will tell us for certain<br> +That winter is not at the other side of the mirror,<br> +Obscuring our delights<br> +And covering our hair with frost?"<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Written_on_White_Frost"></a>WRITTEN ON WHITE FROST</h5> + +The white frost covers all the arbute-trees,<br> +Like powder on the faces of women.<br> +<br> +Looking from window consider<br> +That a man without women is like a flower<br> +Naked without its leaves.<br> +<br> +To drive away my bitterness<br> +<br> +I write this thought with my narrowed breath<br> +On the white frost.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Wang Chi (sixth and seventh centuries).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Flute_of_Marvel"></a>A FLUTE OF MARVEL</h5> + +Under the leaves and cool flowers<br> +The wind brought me the sound of a flute<br> +From far away.<br> +<br> +I cut a branch of willow<br> +And answered with a lazy song.<br> +<br> +Even at night, when all slept,<br> +The birds were listening to a conversation<br> +In their own language.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Li Po (705-763).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Willow-Leaf"></a>THE WILLOW-LEAF</h5> + +I am in love with a child dreaming at the window.<br> +<br> +Not for her elaborate house<br> +On the banks of Yellow River;<br> +<br> +But for a willow-leaf she has let fall<br> + Into the water.<br> +<br> +I am in love with the east breeze.<br> +<br> +Not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches<br> + White on Eastern Hill;<br> +<br> +But that he has drifted the willow-leaf<br> + Against my boat.<br> +<br> +I am in love with the willow-leaf.<br> +<br> +Not that he speaks of green spring<br> + Coming to us again;<br> +<br> +But that the dreaming girl<br> +Pricked there a name with her embroidery needle,<br> + And the name is mine.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Chang Chiu Ling (675-740).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Poet_Looks_at_the_Moon"></a>A POET LOOKS AT THE MOON</h5> + +I hear a woman singing in my garden,<br> +But I look at the moon in spite of her.<br> +<br> +I have no thought of trying to find the singer<br> +Singing in my garden;<br> +I am looking at the moon.<br> +<br> +And I think the moon is honouring me<br> +With a long silver look.<br> +<br> +I blink<br> +As bats fly black across the ray;<br> +But when I raise my head the silver look<br> +Is still upon me.<br> +<br> +The moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror,<br> +And poets are many as dragon scales<br> +On the moonlit sea.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Chang Jo Hsu.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="We_Two_in_a_Park_at_Night"></a>WE TWO IN A PARK AT NIGHT</h5> + +We have walked over the high grass under the wet trees<br> +To the gravel path beside the lake, we two.<br> +A noise of light-stepping shadows follows now<br> +From the dark green mist in which we waded.<br> +<br> +Six geese drop one by one into the shivering lake;<br> +They say "Peeng" and then after a long time, "Peeng,"<br> +Swimming out softly to the moon.<br> +<br> +Three of the balancing dancing geese are dim and black,<br> +And three are white and clear because of the moon;<br> +In what explanatory dawn will our souls<br> +Be seen to be the same?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of <a href="#Note_J_Wing">J. Wing</a> (nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Jade_Staircase"></a>THE JADE STAIRCASE</h5> + +The jade staircase is bright with dew.<br> +<br> +Slowly, this long night, the queen climbs,<br> +Letting her gauze stockings and her elaborate robe<br> +Drag in the shining water.<br> +<br> +Dazed with the light,<br> +She lowers the crystal blind<br> +Before the door of the pavilion.<br> +<br> +It leaps down like a waterfall in sunlight.<br> +<br> +While the tiny clashing dies down,<br> +Sad and long dreaming,<br> +She watches between the fragments of jade light<br> +The shining of the autumn moon.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Li Po (705-762).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Morning_Shower"></a>THE MORNING SHOWER</h5> + +The young lady shows like a thing of light<br> +In the shadowy deeps of a fair window<br> +Grown round with flowers.<br> +<br> +She is naked and leans forward, and her flesh like frost<br> +Gathers the light beyond the stone brim.<br> +<br> +Only the hair made ready for the day<br> +Suggests the charm of modern clothing.<br> +<br> +Her blond eyebrows are the shape of very young moons.<br> +<br> +The shower's bright water overflows<br> +In a pure rain.<br> +<br> +She lifts one arm into an urgent line,<br> +Cooling her rose fingers<br> +On the grey metal of the spray.<br> +<br> +If I could choose my service, I would be the shower<br> +Dashing over her in the sunlight.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of J.S. Ling (1901).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Virtuous_Wife"></a>A VIRTUOUS WIFE</h5> + +One moment I place your two bright pearls against my robe,<br> +And the red silk mirrors a rose in each.<br> +<br> +Why did I not meet you before I married?<br> +<br> +See, there are two tears quivering at my lids;<br> +I am giving back your pearls.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Chang Chi (770-850).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Written_on_a_Wall_in_Spring"></a>WRITTEN ON A WALL IN SPRING</h5> + +It rained last night,<br> +But fair weather has come back<br> +This morning.<br> +<br> +The green clusters of the palm-trees<br> +Open and begin to throw shadows.<br> +<br> +But sorrow drifts slowly down about me.<br> +<br> +I come and go in my room,<br> +Heart-heavy with memories.<br> +<br> +The neighbour green casts shadows of green<br> +On my blind;<br> +The moss, soaked in dew,<br> +Takes the least print<br> +Like delicate velvet.<br> +<br> +I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose<br> +With shadowy underclothes of grenade red.<br> +<br> +How things still live again.<br> +<br> +I go and sit by the day balustrade<br> +<br> +And do nothing<br> +<br> +Except count the plains<br> +And the mountains<br> +And the valleys<br> +And the rivers<br> +That separate from my Spring.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese (early nineteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Poet_Thinks"></a>A POET THINKS</h5> + +The rain is due to fall,<br> +The wind blows softly.<br> +<br> +The branches of the cinnamon are moving,<br> +The begonias stir on the green mounds.<br> +<br> +Bright are the flying leaves,<br> +The falling flowers are many.<br> +<br> +The wind lifted the dry dust,<br> +And he is lifting the wet dust;<br> +Here and there the wind moves everything<br> +<br> +He passes under light gauze<br> +And touches me.<br> +<br> +I am alone with the beating of my heart.<br> +<br> +There are leagues of sky,<br> +And the water is flowing very fast.<br> +<br> +Why do the birds let their feathers<br> +Fall among the clouds?<br> +<br> +I would have them carry my letters,<br> +But the sky is long.<br> +<br> +The stream flows east<br> +And not one wave comes back with news.<br> +<br> +The scented magnolias are shining still,<br> +But always a few are falling.<br> +<br> +I close his box on my guitar of jasper<br> +And lay aside my jade flute.<br> +<br> +I am alone with the beating of my heart.<br> +<br> +Stay with me to-night,<br> +Old songs.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Liu Chi (1311-1375).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="In_the_Cold_Night"></a>IN THE COLD NIGHT</h5> + +Reading in my book this cold night,<br> +I have forgotten to go to sleep.<br> +The perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover;<br> +The last smoke must have left the hearth<br> +When I was not looking.<br> +My beautiful friend snatches away the lamp.<br> +Do you know what the time is?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Yuan Mei (1715-1797).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">DAGHESTAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Winter_Comes"></a>WINTER COMES</h5> + +Winter scourges his horses<br> +Through the North,<br> +His hair is bitter snow<br> +On the great wind.<br> +The trees are weeping leaves<br> +Because the nests are dead,<br> +Because the flowers were nests of scent<br> +And the nests had singing petals<br> +And the flowers and nests are dead.<br> +<br> +Your voice brings back the songs<br> +Of every nest,<br> +Your eyes bring back the sun<br> +Out of the South,<br> +Violets and roses peep<br> +Where you have laughed the snow away<br> +And kissed the snow away,<br> +And in my heart there is a garden still<br> +For the lost birds.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Daghestan.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">GEORGIA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Part_of_a_Ghazal"></a>PART OF A GHAZAL</h5> + +Lonely rose out-splendouring legions of roses,<br> +How could the nightingales behold you and not sing?<br> +<br> +<cite>By Rustwell of Georgia (from the Tariel, twelfth century).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">HINDUSTAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Fard_1"></a>FARD</h5> + +Love brings the tiny sweat into your hair<br> +Like stars marching in the dead of night.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Incurable"></a>INCURABLE</h5> + +I desire the door-sill of my beloved<br> + More than a king's house;<br> +I desire the shadow of the wall where her beauty hides<br> + More than the Delhi palaces.<br> +Why did you wait till spring;<br> +Were not my hands already full of red-thorned roses?<br> + My heart is yours,<br> +So that I know not which heart I hear sighing:<br> + Yaquin, Yaquin, Yaquin, foolish Yaquin.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Hindustani of Yaquin (eighteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Poem"></a>A POEM</h5> + +Joy fills my eyes, remembering your hair, with tears,<br> + And these tears roll and shine;<br> +Into my thoughts are woven a dark night with raindrops<br> + And the rolling and shining of love songs.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Fard_2"></a>FARD</h5> + +Ever your rose face or black curls are with Shaguil;<br> +Because your curls are night and your face is day.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Hindustani of Shaguil (eighteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Mortification"></a>MORTIFICATION</h5> + +Now that the wind has taught your veil to show your eyes and hair,<br> +All the world is bowing down to your dear head;<br> +Faith has crept away to die beside the tomb of prayer,<br> +And men are kneeling to your hair, and God is dead.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Hindustani of Hatifi (eighteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Fard_3"></a>FARD</h5> + +A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole,<br> +For all the heart's health is to be sick with love.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Hindustani of Miyan Jagnu (eighteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">JAPAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Grief_and_the_Sleeve"></a>GRIEF AND THE SLEEVE</h5> + +Tears in the moonlight,<br> +You know why,<br> +Have marred the flowers<br> +On my rose sleeve.<br> +Ask why.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of Hide-Yoshi.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Drink_Song"></a>DRINK SONG</h5> + +The crows have wakened me<br> +By cawing at the moon.<br> +I pray that I shall not think of him;<br> +I pray so intently<br> +That he begins to fill my whole mind.<br> +This is getting on my nerves;<br> +I wonder if there is any of that wine left.<br> +<br> +<cite>Japanese <a href="#Note_Street_Songs">Street Song</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Boat_Comes_In"></a>A BOAT COMES IN</h5> + +Although I shall not see his face<br> +For the low riding of the ship,<br> +The three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak<br> +Will be enough.<br> +But what if I make a mistake<br> +And call to the wrong man?<br> +Or make no sign at all,<br> +And it is he?<br> +<br> +<cite>Japanese <a href="#Note_Street_Songs">Street Song</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Opinion_of_Men"></a>THE OPINION OF MEN</h5> + +My desires are like the white snows on Fuji<br> +That grow but never melt.<br> +I am becoming proud of my bad reputation;<br> +And the more men say,<br> +We cannot understand why she loves him,<br> +The less I care.<br> +I am sure that in a very short time<br> +I shall give myself to him.<br> +<br> +<cite>Japanese <a href="#Note_Street_Songs">Street Song</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Old_Scent_of_the_Plum-tree"></a>OLD SCENT OF THE PLUM-TREE</h5> + +Remembering what passed<br> +Under the scent of the plum-tree,<br> +I asked the plum-tree for tidings<br> +Of that other.<br> +Alas ... the cold moon of spring....<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of Fujiwara Ietaka. (1158-1237).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Orange_Sleeve"></a>AN ORANGE SLEEVE</h5> + +In the fifth month,<br> +When orange-trees<br> +Fill all the world with scent,<br> +I think of the sleeve<br> +Of a girl who loved me.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of Nari-hira.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Invitation"></a>INVITATION</h5> + +The chief flower<br> +Of the plum-tree of this isle<br> +Opens to-night....<br> +Come, singing to the moon,<br> +In the third watch.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of a Courtesan of Nagasaki.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Clocks_of_Death"></a><a href="#Note_Clocks">THE CLOCKS OF DEATH</a></h5> + +In a life where the clocks<br> +Are slow or fast,<br> +It is a pleasant thing<br> +To die together<br> +As we are dying.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of the Wife of Bes-syo Ko-saburo Naga-haru, (sixteenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Green_Food_for_a_Queen"></a>GREEN FOOD FOR A QUEEN</h5> + +I was gathering<br> +Leaves of the <a href="#Note_Wakana">Wakana</a><br> +In springtime.<br> +Why did the snow fall<br> +On my dress?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of the Mikado Ko-ko Ten-no, (ninth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Cushion"></a><a href="#Note_Cushion">THE CUSHION</a></h5> + +Your arm should only be<br> +A spring night's dream;<br> +If I accepted it to rest my head upon<br> +There would be rumours<br> +And no delight.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of the daughter of Taira-no Tsu-gu-naka.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Single_Night"></a>A SINGLE NIGHT</h5> + +Was one night,<br> +And that a night<br> +Without much sleep,<br> +Enough to make me love<br> +All the life long?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of the wife of the Mikado Sui-toka In (twelfth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="At_a_Dance_of_Girls"></a>AT A DANCE OF GIRLS</h5> + +Let the wind's breath<br> +Blow in the glades of the clouds<br> +Until they close;<br> +So that the beauty of these girls<br> +May not escape.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of So-dzyo Hend-zyo</cite>.<br> + +<h5><a name="Alone_One_Night"></a>ALONE ONE NIGHT</h5> + +This night,<br> +Long like the drooping feathers<br> +Of the pheasant,<br> +The chain of mountains,<br> +Shall I sleep alone?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Japanese of Kaik-no Motto-no Hitomaro (seventh and eighth centuries).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">KAFIRISTAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Walking_Up_A_Hill_At_Dawn"></a>WALKING UP A HILL AT DAWN</h5> + +Here is the wind in the morning;<br> +The kind red face of God<br> +Is looking over the hill<br> +We are climbing.<br> +<br> +To-morrow we are going to marry<br> +And work and play together,<br> +And laugh together at things<br> +Which would not amuse our neighbours.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Kafiristan.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Proposal_of_Marriage"></a>PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE</h5> + +Your eyes are black like water-melon pips,<br> +Your lips are red like the red flesh of water-melons,<br> +Your loins are smooth like smooth-rind water-melons.<br> +<br> +You are more beautiful than my favourite among mares,<br> +Your buttocks are sleeker and firmer,<br> +Like her your movements are on legs of light steel.<br> +<br> +Come and sit at my hearth, and I will celebrate your coming;<br> +I will choose from the hundred flocks of each a hundred,<br> +Passing at the foot of the Himalaya,<br> +<br> +The two most silky and most beautiful great sheep.<br> +We will go to the temple and sacrifice one of the two<br> +To the god Pandu, that you may have many children;<br> +<br> +And I will kill the other and roast it whole,<br> +My most fair rose-tree serving as a spit.<br> +I will ask the prettiest eaters and the prettiest drinkers;<br> +<br> +And while they eat and drink greatly for three days,<br> +I will wind silver rings upon your arms and feet<br> +And hang a chain of river gold about your neck.<br> +<br> +<cite>Popular Song of Kafiristan.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">KAZACKS</h2> + +<h5><a name="You_do_not_Want_Me,_Zohrah"></a>YOU DO NOT WANT ME?</h5> + +You do not want me, Zohrah.<br> +Is it because I am maimed?<br> +Yet <a href="#Note_Tamour-Leng">Tamour-leng</a> was maimed,<br> +Going on crippled feet,<br> +And he conquered the vast of the world.<br> +<br> +You do not want me, Zohrah.<br> +Is it because I am maimed?<br> +Yet I have one arm to fight for you,<br> +One arm to crush you to my rough breast,<br> +One arm to break men for you.<br> +<br> +It was to shield you from the Khargis<br> +That I drag this stump in the long days.<br> +It has been so with my women;<br> +They would have made you a toy for heat.<br> +<br> +After their chief with his axe once swinging<br> +Cut my left arm, that, severed, bloody, and dead,<br> +Yet struggled on the ground trying to guard you,<br> +I have had pain for long in my arm that's lost.<br> +<br> +Since the silk nets of your grape-lustrous eyes<br> +Ensnared this heart that did not try to guard,<br> +Ever I have a great pain in my heart that's lost.<br> +You do not want me, Zohrah.<br> +<br> +<cite>Kazack poem of the Chief Gahuan-Beyg (1850-1885).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">KOREA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Tears"></a>TEARS</h5> + +How can a heart play any more with life,<br> + After it has found a woman and known tears?<br> +<br> +In vain I shut my windows against the moonlight;<br> + I have estranged sleep.<br> +<br> +The flower of her face is growing in the shadow<br> + Among warm and rustling leaves....<br> +<br> +I see the sunlight on her house,<br> + I see her curtains of vermilion silk....<br> +<br> +Here is the almond-coloured dawn;<br> + And there is dew on the petals of my night flower.<br> +<br> +<cite>Lyric of Korea.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Dream"></a>THE DREAM</h5> + +I dreamed that I was touching her eyelids, and I awoke<br> +To find her sleepy temples of rose jade<br> + For one heart-beat....<br> +<br> +Though the moonlight beats upon the sea,<br> + There is no boat.<br> +<br> +<cite>Lyric of Korea.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Separation"></a>SEPARATION</h5> + +As water runs in the river, so runs time;<br> +And ever my eyes are wasted of her presence.<br> +<br> +The red flowers of the second moon were yesterday;<br> +To-day the earth has spots of blood, and there are no flowers.<br> +<br> +The wild geese were harnessed to the autumn moon;<br> +They have come, I heard their crying, and they are gone.<br> +<br> +They have passed and given me no message;<br> +I only hear the falling, falling noise of white rain.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Korea.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">KURDISTAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Paradise"></a>PARADISE</h5> + +Paradise, my darling, know that paradise,<br> +The Prophet-given paradise after death,<br> +Is far and very mysterious and most high;<br> +My habits would be upset in such a place.<br> +<br> +Without impiety, I should be mortally weary<br> +If I went there alone, without my wife;<br> +An ugly crowding of inferior females,<br> +What should I do with the houris?<br> +<br> +What should I do with those tall loaded fruit-trees,<br> +Seeing I could not give the fruit to you?<br> +What by the freshness of those blue streams,<br> +Seeing my face reflected there alone?<br> +<br> +And it might be worse if you came with me,<br> +For all of Allah's Chosen would desire you.<br> +And if Mahomet threw his handkerchief<br> +And took you up and loved you for himself?<br> +<br> +Eyes of my eyes, how could I then defend you?<br> +I could not be at ease and watch him love you;<br> +And if I mutinied against the Prophet,<br> +He, being zealous to love you in his peace,<br> +<br> +Would rise and send me hurrying<br> +Back by the sword-blade thinness of the bridge<br> +From paradise to earth, and in the middle<br> +Flick me down sideways to the fires of hell.<br> +<br> +My skin would cook and be renewed for ever<br> +Where murderers were burning and renewing;<br> +And evil souls, my only crime being love,<br> +Would burn me and annoy me and destroy me.<br> +<br> +If I were there and you in paradise,<br> +I could not even make my prayer to Allah<br> +That in his justice he should give me back<br> +My paradise.<br> +<br> +Let us love, therefore, on the earth together;<br> +Our love is our garden, let us take great care,<br> +Whisper and call pet names and kiss each other<br> +To live our paradise as long as may be.<br> +<br> +<cite>Love Ballad of Kurdistan.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">LAOS</h2> + +<h5><a name="Misadventure"></a>MISADVENTURE</h5> + +Ever at the far side of the current<br> +The fishes hurl and swim,<br> +For pelicans and great birds<br> +Watch and go fishing<br> +On the bank-side.<br> +<br> +No man dare go alone<br> +In the dim great forest,<br> +But if I were as strong<br> +As the green tiger<br> +I would go.<br> +<br> +The holy swan on the sea<br> +Wishes to pass over with his wings,<br> +But I think it would be hard<br> +To go so far.<br> +<br> +If you are still pure,<br> +Tell me, darling;<br> +If you are no longer<br> +Clear like an evening star,<br> +You are the heart of a great tree<br> +Eaten by insects.<br> +Why do you lower your eyes?<br> +Why do you not look at me?<br> +<br> +When the blue elephant<br> +Finds a lotus by the water-side<br> +He takes it up and eats it.<br> +Lemons are not sweeter than sugar.<br> +<br> +If I had the moon at home<br> +I would open my house wide<br> +To the four winds of the horizon,<br> +So that the clouds that surround her<br> +Should escape and be shaken away.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of the <a href="#Note_Love_Nights">Love Nights of Laos</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Khap-Salung"></a>KHAP-SALUNG</h5> + +Seeing that I adore you,<br> +Scarf of golden flowers,<br> +Why do you stay unmarried?<br> +As the liana at a tree's foot<br> +That quivers to wind it round,<br> +So do I wait for you. I pray you<br> +Do not detest me....<br> +<br> +I have come to say farewell.<br> +Farewell, scarf;<br> +Garden Royal<br> +Where none may enter,<br> +Gaudy money<br> +I may not spend.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of the <a href="#Note_Love_Nights">Love Nights of Laos</a>.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Holy_Swan"></a>THE HOLY SWAN</h5> + +Fair journey, O holy swan with gold wings;<br> +O holy swan that I love, fair journey!<br> +Carry this letter for me to the new land,<br> +The place where my lover labours.<br> +If it rains fly low beneath the trees,<br> +If the sun is hot fly in the forest shadows;<br> +If any ask you where you are going<br> +Do not answer.<br> +You who rise for so long a journey,<br> +Avoid the roofs at the hour when the sun is red.<br> +Carry this letter to the new land of my lover.<br> +If he is faithful, give it to him;<br> +If he has forgotten, read it to him only<br> +And let the lightning burn it afterwards.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of the <a href="#Note_Love_Nights">Love Nights of Laos</a>.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">MANCHURIA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Fire_and_Love"></a>FIRE AND LOVE</h5> + +If you do not want your heart<br> +Burnt at a small flame<br> +Like a spitted sheep,<br> +Fly the love of women.<br> +Fire burns what it touches,<br> +But love burns from afar.<br> +<br> +<cite>Folk Song of Manchuria.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Hearts_of_Women"></a>HEARTS OF WOMEN</h5> + +It is hard for a man to tell<br> +The hidden thought in his friend's heart,<br> +And the thought in a man's own heart<br> +Is a thing darker.<br> +<br> +If you have seen a woman's heart<br> +Bare to your eyes,<br> +Go quickly away and never tell<br> +What you have seen there.<br> +<br> +<cite>Street Song of Manchuria.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">PERSIA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Promised_Picture_Book"></a>TO HIS LOVE INSTEAD OF A PROMISED PICTURE-BOOK</h5> + +<i>The greater and the lesser ills:</i><br> + He waved his grey hand wearily<br> + Back to the anger of the sea,<br> +Then forward to the blue of hills.<br> +<br> +Out from the shattered barquenteen<br> + The black frieze-coated sailors bore<br> + Their dying despot to the shore<br> +And wove a crazy palanquin.<br> +<br> +They found a valley where the rain<br> + Had worn the fern-wood to a paste<br> + And tiny streams came down in haste<br> +To eastward of the mountain chain.<br> +<br> +And here was handiwork of Cretes,<br> + And olives grew beside a stone,<br> + And one slim phallos stood alone<br> +Blasphemed at by the paroquets.<br> +<br> +Hard by a wall of basalt bars<br> + The night came like a settling bird,<br> + And here he wept and slept and stirred<br> +Faintly beneath the turning stars.<br> +<br> +Then like a splash of saffron whey<br> + That spills from out a bogwood bowl<br> + Oozed from the mountain clefts the whole<br> +Rich and reluctant light of day.<br> +<br> +And when he neither moved nor spoke<br> + And did not heed the morning call,<br> + They laid him underneath the wall<br> +And wrapped him in a purple cloak.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Modern Persian.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Too_Short_a_Night"></a>TOO SHORT A NIGHT</h5> + +Lily of Streams lay by my side last night<br> +And to my prayers gave answers of delight;<br> +Day came before our fairy-tale was finished,<br> +Because the tale was long, not short the night.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Roses"></a><a href="#Note_Roses">THE ROSES</a></h5> + +Roses are a wandering scent from heaven.<br> +Rose-seller, why do you sell your roses?<br> +For silver? But with the silver from your roses<br> +What can you buy so precious as your roses?<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Persian of Abu-Yshac (middle of the tenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="I_Asked_my_Love"></a>I ASKED MY LOVE</h5> + +I asked my love: "Why do you make yourself so beautiful?"<br> + "To please myself.<br> +I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness;<br> +The loved one and the lover and the love."<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Request"></a>A REQUEST</h5> + +When I am cold and undesirous and my lids lie dead,<br> +Come to watch by the body that loved you and say:<br> +This is <i>Rondagui</i>, whom I killed and my heart regrets for ever.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Persian of Rondagui (tenth century).</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="See_You_Have_Dancers"></a>SEE YOU HAVE DANCERS</h5> + +See you have dancers and wine and a girl like one of the angels<br> + (If they exist),<br> +And find a clear stream singing near its birth and a bed of moss<br> + (If moss exists),<br> +For loving and singing to the dancers and drinking and forgetting hell<br> + (If hell exists),<br> +Because this is a pastime better than paradise<br> + (If paradise exists).<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Persian of Omar Khayyam (eleventh century).</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">SIAM</h2> + +<h5><a name="Sighing_Heart"></a>THE SIGHING HEART</h5> + +I made search for you all my life, and when I found you<br> +There came a trouble on me,<br> +So that it seemed my blood escaped<br> +And my life ran back from me<br> +And my heart slipped into you.<br> +It seems, also, that you are the moon<br> +And that I am at the top of a tree.<br> +If I had wings I would spread them as far as you,<br> +Dear bud, that will not open<br> +Though the kisses of the holy bird knock at your petal door.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Siam.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">SYRIA</h2> + +<h5><a name="Handing_over_the_Gun"></a>HANDING OVER THE GUN</h5> + +Kill me if you will not love me.<br> + Here are flints;<br> +Ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard,<br> + On the black powder.<br> +<br> +Only you must not shoot me through the head,<br> + Nor touch my heart;<br> +Because my head is full of the ways of you<br> + And my heart is dead.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of Syria.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">TATARS</h2> + +<h5><a name="Honey"></a>HONEY</h5> + +Young man,<br> +If you try to eat honey<br> +On the blade of a knife,<br> +You will cut yourself.<br> +<br> +If you try to taste honey<br> +On the kiss of a woman,<br> +Taste with the lips only,<br> +If not, young man,<br> +You will bite your own heart.<br> +<br> +<cite>Song of the Tatars.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">THIBET</h2> + +<h5><a name="Love_of_the_Archer_Prince"></a><a href="#Note_Archer_Prince">THE LOVE OF THE ARCHER PRINCE</a></h5> + +The Khan.<br> +<br> +The son of the Khan.<br> +<br> +The love of the son of the Khan.<br> +<br> +The veil of the love of the son of the Khan.<br> +<br> +The clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of<br> + the Khan.<br> +<br> +The buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the<br> + veil of the love of the son of the Khan.<br> +<br> +The Archer Prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that<br> + scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love<br> + of the son of the Khan.<br> +<br> +And the girl married the Archer Prince whose love kissed the<br> + buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the<br> + veil of the love of the son of the Khan.<br> +<br> +<cite>Street Song of Thibet.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">TURKESTAN</h2> + +<h5><a name="Distich_1"></a>DISTICH</h5> + +Your face upon a drop of purple wine<br> +Shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Turkic of Hussein Baikrani.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Things_Seen_in_Battle"></a>THINGS SEEN IN A BATTLE</h5> + +Clear diamond heart,<br> +I have been hunting death<br> +Among the swords.<br> +<br> +But death abhors my shadow,<br> +And I come back<br> +Wounded with memories.<br> +<br> +Your eyes,<br> +For steel is amorous of steel<br> +And there are bright blue sparks.<br> +<br> +Your lips,<br> +I see great bloody roses<br> +Cut in white dead breasts.<br> +<br> +Your bed,<br> +For I see wrestling bodies<br> +Under the evening star.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Turkic.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Hunters_Song"></a>HUNTER'S SONG</h5> + +Not a stone from my black sling<br> +Ever misses anything,<br> +But the arrows of your eye<br> +Surer shoot and faster fly.<br> +<br> +Not one creature that I hit<br> +Lingers on to know of it,<br> +But the game that falls to love<br> +Lives and lingers long enough.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Turkic.</cite><br> + +<h2 class="country">TURKEY</h2> + +<h5><a name="Bath"></a>THE BATH</h5> + +My dreams are bubbles of cool light,<br> +Sunbeams mingled in the light green<br> +Waters of your bath.<br> +<br> +Through fretted spaces in the olive wood<br> +My love adventures with the white sun.<br> +<br> +I dive into the ice-coloured shadows<br> +Where the water is like light blue flowers<br> +Dancing on mirrors of silver.<br> +<br> +The sun rolls under the waters of your bath<br> +Like the body of a strong swimmer.<br> +<br> +And now you cool your feet,<br> +Which have the look of apple flowers,<br> +Under the water on the oval marble<br> +Coloured like yellow roses.<br> +<br> +Your scarlet nipples<br> +Waver under the green kisses of the water,<br> +Flowers drowned in a mountain stream.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Modern Turkish.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Distich_2"></a>DISTICH</h5> + +Lions tremble at my claws;<br> +And I at a gazelle with eyes.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Turkish of Sultan Selim I.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Proverb"></a>A PROVERB</h5> + +Before you love,<br> +Learn to run through snow<br> +Leaving no footprint.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Turkish.</cite><br> + +<h5><a name="Envoy_In_Autumn"></a>ENVOY IN AUTUMN</h5> + +Here are the doleful rains,<br> +And one would say the sky is weeping<br> +The death of the tolerable weather.<br> +<br> +Tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds<br> +And we sit down indoors.<br> +<br> +Now is the time for poetry coloured with summer.<br> +Let it fall on the white paper<br> +As ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree.<br> +<br> +I will dip down my lips into my cup<br> +Each time I wet my brush.<br> +<br> +And keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders,<br> +For time escapes away from you and me<br> +Quicker than birds.<br> +<br> +<cite>From the Chinese of Tu Fu (712-770).</cite><br> + +<hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> + +<h2><a name="Translators_Notes"></a>TRANSLATOR'S NOTES</h2> + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + +<p>I am hoping that some readers will look on this collection primarily as +a book of poems. The finding and selection of material and the shaping +of the verses is my principal part in it. Most of the songs have been +written from, or by comparing, the literal translations of French and +Italian scholars, checked wherever possible by my own knowledge. When my +first and very great debt to these has been stated, there remains my +debt to the late John Duncan, to Mr. J. Wing, and to a friend, a +distinguished writer both in Persian and Turkish, who wishes to remain +unnamed. The kindness of these writers lies in trusting their work to my +translation and helping me in that task. My book also owes much to +suggestions prompted by the wide learning of Mr. L. Cranmer-Byng. My +final debt is to him and to another generous critic. I have arranged my +poems in the alphabetical order of their countries, and added short +notes wherever I considered them necessary, at the instance of some +kindly reviewers of an earlier book, which was not so arranged +and provided.</p> + +<br><i>AFGHANISTAN</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Sikander"></a>SIKANDER, Alexander the Great.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_Shalibagh"></a>SHALIBAGH, the notable garden of Shalimar in Lahore, planted by Shah +Jahan in 1637.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_Abdel_Qadir_Gilani"></a>ABDEL QADIR GILANI, Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, founder of the Qadirite +order of the Dervishes, twelfth century.</p> + +<br><i>ANNAM</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Kien_Niu"></a>K'IEN NIÜ and CHIK NÜ: the legend of these two stars comes from China +and is told in Japan. Readers are referred to that section of Mr. L. +Cranmer-Byng's <i>A Lute of Jade</i> which deals delightfully with Po-Chü-i; +and to Lafcadio Hearn's <i>Romance of the Milky Way</i>.</p> + +<br><i>ARABIC</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Antar"></a>ANTAR, the hero Antar Ebn Cheddad Ebn Amr Corad, who lived in the late +sixth and early seventh centuries, owes his European reputation to +<i>Siret Antar</i>, the Adventures of Antar, or more exactly the Conduct of +Antar, written by Abul-Moyyed "El Antari" in the twelfth century. This +book tells of the fighter's feats in war and of his love for his cousin +Abla; and these are the themes of Antar's own poems.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_Escape"></a>AN ESCAPE: in this poem Abu Nuas, the Court poet, tells of an adventure +of the Khalif Haroun. There is a story that the Khalif, being set back +by the answer of his lady, called his poets in the morning and bade them +write a poem round the phrase, "Words of a night to bring the day." All +were rewarded for their work save Abu Nuas; and he was condemned to +death for spying through keyholes on his master. But after he had proved +an alibi, he also was rewarded.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_John_Duncan"></a>"JOHN DUNCAN was a lowland Scot, who lived in Edinburgh until he was +between twenty and twenty-five years old. He was educated at one of the +Scots schools, and knew his way about the University if he was not +actually a student there. He certainly had enough money to live on. A +love affair in which he must have been infamously treated caused him to +leave Scotland. Within a year or two he was an established member of a +small tribe of nomadic Arabs, and eventually he became in speech and +appearance one of them, living their lazy, pastoral life and travelling +up and down with them the whole line of the southwest coast of the +Persian Gulf. Before his death, which occurred last year, at the age of +forty-two or forty-three, he had become acquainted with the whole of +habitable Arabia.</p> + +<p>"Let Mr. Mathers take up the story as he told it to me: 'He married an +Arab, and all his forty-odd poems are addressed to her. I saw only a +snapshot of her, which showed her to be beautiful. In her he certainly +found healing for the wound his abnormally fiery and sensitive nature +had taken from the first woman. She pulled together an intellect rather +easily subdued. I only knew him after her death (his reason for +travelling to this country), and a dazed, utterly unpractical and +uninterested habit of mind, which alternated with his brilliance of +speech and to a less degree of thought, was probably a reversion to the +psychic state which his marriage had cured.</p> + +<p>" 'Like so many to whom life has at one time given a paralysing shock, +Duncan was extremely reticent, save when he could lead the conversation, +and be confidential at points of his own choosing; and he was not an +easy man to question. The disappointment which had driven him from his +country certainly made him more bitter against the British than any +other man I have listened to. All his considerable wit and the natural +acid of his thought were directed against our ideas, institutions, +and beliefs.</p> + +<p>" 'His one sane enthusiasm, English lyric verse, of whose depths, +main-stream, and back-waters his knowledge was profound, formed one-half +of his conversation.</p> + +<p>" 'His English in talking was rich and varied, and it was an ironic +caprice which made him refuse to write in that language. I doubt, +though, whether he would have composed with ease in any tongue, for he +found it hard to concentrate, and his small stock of verse was the +outcome of ten years of unoccupied life. He approved, rather mockingly, +my promise to try to find an English equivalent for some of them; and I +think I have copies of all he wrote.</p> + +<p>" 'One not acquainted with the man might find them rather hard to render, +as, had he been an Arab actually, still he would have been the most +unconventional of poets, neglecting form and the literary language.'"</p> + +<p>My most cordial thanks are due to The Bookworm, of the <i>Weekly +Dispatch</i>, for permission to make this long quotation from an article +headed, "The Strange Story of John Duncan, the Arab-Scot," which +appeared over his <i>nom de plume</i> in the issue of that newspaper for +March 30, 1919.</p> + +<br><i>CHINA</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_J_Wing"></a>J. WING: I have already translated three of this writer's poems: +"English Girl," "Climbing after Nectarines," and "Being together at +Night." These may be found in <i>Coloured Stars</i>. Mr. Wing is an +American-born Chinese and practises the profession of a valet.</p> + +<br><i>JAPAN</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Clocks"></a>THE CLOCKS OF DEATH: this poem is a <i>zi-sei</i>, or lyric made at the point +of death. Naga-Haru committed suicide after an unsuccessful defence of +the strong castle Mi-Ki against Hashiba Hideyoshi in 1580. His wife +followed his example, composing this poem as she died.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_Wakana"></a>WAKANA, the turnip cabbage, whose leaves are eaten in early spring. The +Mikado is lamenting a sudden realisation that he is too old for +his love.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_Cushion"></a>THE CUSHION: the poetess, daughter of Tsu-gu-naka, lord of Su-Wo, while +at a party, asked for a cushion. A certain Iye-tada offered his arm for +her to lean her head against, and she answered with these lines.</p> + +<p><a name="Note_Street_Songs"></a>STREET SONGS: the three poems which I have so called are written in +everyday colloquial Japanese. The words of the old language, which are +the ornament of literary verse, are almost entirely excluded from these +songs. In them one finds a superabundance of auxiliaries, and the +presence of these marks a clear line between the literary and the +folk-idiom.</p> + +<br><i>KAZACKS</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Tamour-Leng"></a>TAMOUR-LENG, Tamerlane. The facts of "You Do Not Want Me" are +historical; but it should be added that Gahuan-Beyg succeeded in +overcoming Zohrah's indifference, and that a few months after their +marriage he beheaded her with his own hand for speaking to another man.</p> + +<br><i>LAOS</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Love_Nights"></a>THE LOVE NIGHTS OF LAOS, "Wan-Pak" Nights, at the eighth evening of the +waxing or waning of the moon, when even Buddha has no fault to find with +love-making in the thickets. Songs, of which I have translated three, +are sung on these nights to the accompaniments of the "Khane," a +pan-pipe of seven flutes; some being reserved for the singing of the +wandering bands of girls, and others for answer by the youths.</p> + +<br><i>PERSIA</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Roses"></a>THE ROSES, this rubai made Abu Yshac famous. He died at least twenty +years before the birth of Omar Khayyam. Readers will have been struck by +the similarity of idea in "The Roses" and in two lines in +Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat:</p> + +<blockquote>I often wonder what the vintners buy<br> +One-half so precious as the goods they sell.</blockquote> + +<br><i>THIBET</i><br> + +<p><a name="Note_Archer_Prince"></a>THE LOVE OF THE ARCHER PRINCE: this form of poem, with one rhyme and +repetitive and increasing lines, is a familiar one in Thibet; and thence +it has entered Kafiristan and become a popular manner of composition +Archipelago. English readers will remember an analogous poem, "The House +that Jack built."</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Garden of Bright Waters, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + +***** This file should be named 9920-h.htm or 9920-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/9/2/9920/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, Tom Allen +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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