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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9920-8.txt b/9920-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f57427 --- /dev/null +++ b/9920-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3633 @@ +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. + + + + + + + + + + +The Garden Of Bright Waters + +One Hundred And Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + + +Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +1920 + + + + +Dedication: To My Wife + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +Head in hand, I look at the paper leaf; +It is still white. + +I look at the ink +Dry on the end of my brush. + +My soul sleeps. +Will it ever wake? + +I walk a little in the pouring of the sun +And pass my hands over the higher flowers. + +There is the soft green forest, +There are the sweet lines of the mountains +Carved with snow, red in the sunlight. + +I see the slow march of the clouds, +I hear the crows jeering, and I come back + +To sit and look at the paper leaf, +Which is still white +Under my brush. + +_From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850)._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + + +AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO) + +The Princess of Qulzum +Come, my Beloved! +Ballade of Muhammad Khan +Ghazal of Tavakkul +Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal +Ghazal of Sayyid Ahmad +Ghazal of Pir Muhammad +Ballade of Nurshali +Ghazal of Muhammad Din Tilai +Micra +Ballade of Muhammad Din Tilai +Ghazal of Mira +Ghazal of Majid Shah +Ghazal of Mira +Ballade of Ajam the Washerman +Ghazal of Isa Akhun Zada + + +ANNAM + +The Bamboo Garden +Stranger Things have Happened +Nocturne +The Gao Flower +The Girl of Ke-Mo +The Little Woman of Clear River +Waiting to Marry a Student +A Song for Two + + +ARABIC + +Sand +Two Similes +Melodian +The Lost Lady +Love Brown and Bitter +Okhouan +Lying Down Alone +Old Greek Lovers +Night and Morning +In a Yellow Frame +Because the Good are Never Fair +White and Green and Black Tears +A Conceit +Values +What Love Is +The Dancing Heart +The Great Offence +An Escape +Three Queens +Her Nails +Perturbation at Dawn +The Resurrection of the Tattooed Girl +Moallaka of Antar +Moallaka of Amr Ebn Kultum + + +BALUCHISTAN + +Comparisons + + +BURMA + +A Canker in the Heart + + +CAMBODIA + +Disquiet + + +CAUCASUS + +Vengeance +The Flight + + +CHINA + +We were Two Green Rushes +Song Writer Paid with Air +The Bad Road +The Western Window +In Lukewarm Weather +Written on White Frost +A Flute of Marvel +The Willow-Leaf +A Poet Looks at the Moon +We Two in a Park at Night +The Jade Staircase +The Morning Shower +A Virtuous Wife +Written on a Wall in Spring +A Poet Thinks +In the Cold Night + + +DAGHESTAN + +Winter Comes + + +GEORGIA + +Part of a Ghazal + + +HINDUSTAN + +Fard +Incurable +A Poem +Fard +Mortification +Fard + + +JAPAN + +Grief and the Sleeve +Drink Song +A Boat Comes In +The Opinion of Men +Old Scent of the Plum-tree +An Orange Sleeve +Invitation +The Clocks of Death +Green Food for a Queen +The Cushion +A Single Night +At a Dance of Girls +Alone One Night + + +KAFIRISTAN + +Walking up a Hill at Dawn +Proposal of Marriage + + +KAZACKS + +You do not Want Me, Zohrah + + +KOREA + +Tears +The Dream +Separation + + +KURDISTAN + +Paradise + + +LAOS + +Misadventure +Khap-Salung +The Holy Swan + + +MANCHURIA + +Fire and Love +Hearts of Women + + + +PERSIA + +To His Love instead of a Promised Picture Book +Too Short a Night +The Roses +I Asked my Love +A Request +See You Have Dancers + + +SIAM + +The Sighing Heart + + +SYRIA + +Handing over the Gun + + +TATARS + +Honey + + +THIBET + +The Love of the Archer Prince + + +TURKESTAN + +Distich +Things Seen in Battle +Hunter's Song + + +TURKEY + +The Bath +Distich +A Proverb + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + + + + +_AFGHANISTAN_ + + + +THE PRINCESS OF QULZUM +(BALLADE BY NUR UDDIN) + +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight; +I have seen the daughter of the King of Qulzum passing from grace to + grace. +Yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house +And laughed with a thousand graces. +She has a little pearl and coral cap +And rides in a palanquin with servants about her +And claps her hands, being too proud to call. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"My palanquin is truly green and blue; +I fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure; +I make men run up and down before me, +And am not as young a girl as you pretend. +I am of Iran, of a powerful house, I am pure steel. +I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore, +You walk with a joyous step, +Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy. +A pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens, +I would not that your mother should give my pear-tree +To twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead +Throw rays and light the hearts of far men; +The ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond. +I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine +And my words are chosen. +But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I trust them to you." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things; +And two great saints are my perpetual guards. +There is never a song of _Nur Uddin_ but has in it a great achievement +And is as brilliant as a young hyacinth; +I pour a ray of honey on my disciples, +There is as it were a fire in my ballades. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +COME, MY BELOVED! + +Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved! +The doves are moaning and calling and will not cease. + Come, my beloved! + +"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love. +Sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth." + Come, my beloved! + +The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair, +The balance of your neck is like a jacinth; +You have set a star of green between your brows. + Come, my beloved! + +Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills +Are the soft colours of the airy veil +To your rose knee from your curved almond waist. + Come, my beloved! + +Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags, +Stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings. + Come, my beloved! + +_Muhammad Din_ is wandering; he is drunken and mad; +For a year he has been dying. Send for the doctor! + Come, my beloved! + +_From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth +century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN + +She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower; +Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the + garden. + +Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to + break. +Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well; +She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her. + +She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose; +She breaks not, she is strong. +She has a throne, but comes into the woods for love. + +I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword. +The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as Badri. +She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue + scarf. +Give your garland to _Muhammad Khan_, my idol; +My idol has come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL + +To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city +From which my heart might leap to heaven. + +Her breasts are a garden of white roses +Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves. + +Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing +And doves are moaning with arrows because of her. + +All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh; +She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there. + +Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair.... +You have killed _Tavakkul_, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL + +I am burning, I am crumbled into powder, +I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears. + +Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish; +I return no more, I am counted among the dead. + +I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames; +You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day. + +People have come to see me from far towns, +Great and small, arriving with bare heads, +For I have become one of the great historical lovers. + +In the desire of your red lips +My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses. +It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose +That my heart is taken. + +"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, _Sayyid Kamal_. +I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless." + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD + +My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly; +Day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly. + +Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly; +Setting quickly and heavily and very quietly. + +If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open; +To-morrow is a day when no man buys, +And the caravan is broken up very quietly. + +The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake +_Sayyid Ahmad_ is walking and mourning very quietly. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD + +The season of parting has come up with the wind; +My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation. + +Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless. +None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation. + +There is no one near me noble enough to be told; +I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation. + +She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me. +Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of + separation. + +I am _Pir Muhammad_ and I am stumbling away to die; +She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF NURSHALI + +Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path +When your girl friends go laughing by the road. +"Come in haste this dusk; I have become your nightingale, +And the young girls leave me alone because of you. +I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you; +Take my wrist, for there is no shame +And my father has gone out. +Sit near me on this red bed quietly." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips; +Your hand is strong upon my breast; +My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers." +But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair. +This is _Nurshali_ sighing for the garden; + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +The world is fainting +And falling into a swoon. + +The world is turning and changing; +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain +And pierced a brass hill for the love of Shirin. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love +And death became the hostess of his lady. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated. +You know the story; +There is no lasting love. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_Muhammad Din_ is ill for the matter of a little honey; +This is a moment to be generous. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +MICRA + +When you lie with me and love me, +You give me a second life of young gold; +And when you lie with me and love me not, +I am as one who puts out hands in the dark +And touches cold wet death. + +_From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. +On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses, +They speak about your beauty in Lahore. +You have your mother's lips; +Your ring is frosted with rubies, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies; +I was unhappy and you looked over the wall, +I saw your face among the crimson lilies; +There is no armour that a lover can buy, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers +And they go away. +I have fatigued the wise of many lands, +And my hair is a tangle of serpents. +What is the profit of these shawls without you? +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +"A squadron of my father's men are about me, +And I have woven a collar of yellow flowers. +My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of bhang, +Being a daughter of the daughter of queens. +You cannot touch me because of my palaces, +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song; +For I am a disciple of Abdel Qadir Gilani, +And my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies.... +_Muhammad Din_ awaits the parting of your scarves; +_Tilai_ is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. +I came to ask for alms and have lost my all, +I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me, +And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +The lamp burns and I must play the green moth. +I have stolen her scented rope of flowers, +But the women caught me and built a little gaol +About my heart with your old playthings. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_Mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die +Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief; +It is the hour; make haste. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH + +Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me; +The black dust has covered my pretty one. + +My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend; +How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here. + +I can only dream of the stature of my friend; +The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden. + +Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers; +I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey. + +I am _Majid Shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead; +Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men +Is buried alive under the vault of Time. + +Autumn comes pillaging gardens; +The bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling. + +Wars start up wherever your eye glances, +And the young men moan marching on to the batteries. + +_Mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road; +He has taken his death-wound in battle. + + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN + +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me. +Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow; +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart; +Come to me. + +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart +Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings; +Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart, +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me. + +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more + beautiful +Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings. +The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope; +But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves. + +Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves, +And give yourself once to _Ajam_. Slip away weeping, +Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me. +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA + +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing, +Lend your small ears to my quick sighing. +Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death; +And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes. +Life is a tale ill constructed without love. +Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +I am at your door wasted and white and dying. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam +Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom. +All the world has spied on us and seen our love, +And in four days or five days will be whispering evil. +Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. +After that we will both of us go to prison. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +My quick sighings carry a tender promise; +I will have time to remember in the battle, +Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me. +The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword, +Though I have foes more than the stars +Of a thousand valley starlights. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +I am as strong as Sikander, I am as strong as death; +You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me, +And laughing bloody battalions following after. +_Isa Gal_ is stronger than God; +Do not whip me, do not whip me, +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + + +_ANNAM_ + + + +THE BAMBOO GARDEN + +Old bamboos are about my house, +And the floor of my house is untidy with old books. +It is sweet to rest in the shade of it +And read the poems of the masters. + +But I remember a delightful fisherman +Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening. +In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float +Over the lakes and rivers, +Watching his nets and singing. + +A sweet boy promised to marry me, +But he went away and left +Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift +In the middle of a river. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED + +Do not believe that ink is always black, + Or lime white, or lemon sour; +You cannot ring one bell from two pagodas, +You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son. + I found you binding an orange spray + Of flowers with white flowers; + I never noticed the flower gathering + Of other village ladies. +Would you like me to go and see your father and mother? + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +NOCTURNE + +It is late at night +And the North Star is shining. +The mist covers the rice-fields +And the bamboos +Are whispering full of crickets. +The watch beats on the iron-wood gong, +And priests are ringing the pagoda bells. +We hear the far-away games of peasants +And distant singing in the cottages. + +It is late at night. +As we talk gently, +Sitting by one another, +Life is as beautiful as night. +The red moon is rising +On the mountain side +Like a fire started among the trees. +There is the North Star +Shining like a paper lantern. +The light air brings dew to our faces +And the sound of tamtams beaten far away. +Let us sit like this all night. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GAO FLOWER + +I am the Gao flower high in a tree, +You are the grass Long Mai on the path-side. +When heat comes down after the dews of morning +The flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass, +The grass Long Mai that keeps the fallen Gao. + +Folk who let their daughters grow +Without achieving a husband +Might easily forget to fence their garden, +Or let their radishes grow flower and rank +When they could eat them ripe and tender. + +Come to me, you that I see walk +Every night in a red turban; +Young man with the white turban, come to me. +We will plant marrows together in a garden, +And there may be little marrows for your children. + +I will dye your turban blue and red and yellow, +You with the white turban. +You that are passing with a load of water, +I call you +And you do not even turn your head. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GIRL OF KE-MO + +I'm a girl of Ke-Mo village +Selling my rice wine on the road. +Mine is the strongest rice wine in the land, +Though my bottle is so patched and dirty. +These silly rags are not my body, +The parts you cannot see are counted pleasant; +But you are just too drunk to drink my wine, +And just too plain to lie down on my mat. +He who would drink the wine of the girl of Ke-Mo +Needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE LITTLE WOMAN OF CLEAR RIVER + +Clear River twists nine times about +Clear River; but so deep +That none can see the green sand. +You hear the birds about Clear River: +Dik, dik, dik, dik, Diu dik. + +A little woman with jade eyes +Leans on the wall of a pavilion. +She has the moonrise in her heart +And the singing of love songs +Comes to her up the river. + +She stands and dreams for me +Outside the house by the bamboo door. +In a minute +I will leave my shadow +And talk to her of poetry and love. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +WAITING TO MARRY A STUDENT + +I still walk slowly on the river bank +Where I came singing, +And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +Setting red in the river. +I want Autumn, +I want the leaves to begin falling at once, +So that the cold time may bring us close again +Like K'ien Niü and Chik Nü, the two stars. + +Each year when Autumn comes +The crows make a black bridge across the milky sea, +And then these two poor stars +Can run together in gold and be at peace. +Darling, for my sake work hard +And be received with honour at the Examinations. + +Since I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +I have forgotten how to sing +And how to paddle the canoe across the lake. +I know how to sit down and how to be sad, +And I know how to say nothing; +But every other art has slipped away. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +A SONG FOR TWO + +I have lacquered my teeth to find a husband. + +And I have need of a wife. +Give me a kiss and they will marry us +At Mo-Lao, my village. + +I will marry you if you will wait for me, +Wait till the banana puts forth branches, +And fruit hangs heavy on the Sung-tree, +And the onion flowers; +Wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs, +And the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + + +_ARABIC_ + + + +SAND + +The sand is like acres of wet milk +Poured out under the moonlight; +It crawls up about your brown feet +Like wine trodden from white stars. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +TWO SIMILES + +You have taken away my cloak, +My cloak of weariness; +Take my coat also, +My many-coloured coat of life.... + +On this great nursery floor +I had three toys, +A bright and varnished vow, +A Speckled Monster, best of boys, +True friend to me, and more +Beloved and a thing of cost, +My doll painted like life; and now +One is broken and two are lost. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +MELODIAN + +I have been at this shooting-gallery too long. +It is monotonous how the little coloured balls +Make up and down on their silvery water thread; +It would be pleasant to have money and go instead +To watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls +Of the World-famous Caravan of Dance and Song. + +And I want to go out beyond the turf fires there, +After I've looked at your just smiling face, +To that untented silent dark blue nighted place; +And wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb +And drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ... +You have the most understanding face in all the fair. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +THE LOST LADY + +You are the drowned, +Star that I found +Washed on the rim of the sea +Before the morning. +You are the little dying light +That stopped me in the night. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +LOVE BROWN AND BITTER + +You know so well how to stay me with vapours +Distilled expertly to that unworthy end; +You know the poses of your body I love best +And that I am cheerful with your head on my breast, +You know you please me by disliking one friend; +You read up what amuses me in the papers. + +Who knows me knows I am not of those fools +That gets tired of a woman who is kind to them, +Yet you know not how stifled you render me +By learning me so well, how I long to see +An unpractised girl under your clever phlegm, +A soul not so letter-perfect in the rules. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OKHOUAN + +A mole shows black +Between her mouth and cheek. + +As if a negro, +Coming into a garden, +Wavered between a purple rose +And a scarlet camomile. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +LYING DOWN ALONE + +I shall never see your tired sleep +In the bed that you make beautiful, +Nor hardly ever be a dream +That plays by your dark hair; +Yet I think I know your turning sigh +And your trusting arm's abandonment, +For they are the picture of my night, +My night that does not end. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OLD GREEK LOVERS + +They put wild olive and acanthus up +With tufts of yellow wool above the door +When a man died in Greece and in Greek Islands, + Grey stone by the blue sea, +Or sage-green trees down to the water's edge. + How many clanging years ago + I, also withering into death, sat with him, + Old man of so white hair who only, + Only looked past me into the red fire. +At last his words were all a jumble of plum-trees +And white boys smelling of the sea's green wine +And practice of his lyre. Suddenly + The bleak resurgent mind +Called wonderfully clear: "What mark have I left?" + Crying girls with wine and linen +Washed the straight old body and wrapped up, + And set the doorward feet. +Later for me also under Greek sun +The pendant leaves in green and bitter flakes +Blew out to join the wastage of the world, +And wool, I take it, in the nests of birds. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +NIGHT AND MORNING + +The great brightness of the burning of the stars, +Little frightened love, +Is like your eyes, +When in the heavy dusk +You question the dark blue shadows, +Fearing an evil. + +Below the night +The one clear line of dawn; +As it were your head +Where there is one golden hair +Though your hair is very brown. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Moattaz) (ninth century)._ + + + +IN A YELLOW FRAME + +Her hand tinted to gold with henna +Gave me a cup of wine like gold water, +And I said: The moon rise, the sun rise. + +_From the Arabic of Hefny-bey-Nassif (contemporary)._ + + + +BECAUSE THE GOOD ARE NEVER FAIR + +When she appears the daylight envies her garment, +The wanton daylight envies her garment +To show it to the jealous sun. + +And when she walks, +All women tall and tiny +Want her figure and start crying. + +Because of your mouth, +Long life to the Agata valley, +Long life to pearls. + +Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks, +But I am undecided, +For there is a hint of the tops of flames +In their purple shining. + +_From the Arabic of Ahmed Bey Chawky (contemporary)._ + + + +WHITE AND GREEN AND BLACK TEARS + +Why are your tears so white? +Dear, I have wept so long +That my old tears grow white like my old hair. + +Why are your tears so green? +Dear, the waters are wept away +And the green gall is flowing. + +Why are your tears so black? +Dear, the weeping is over +And the black flash you loved is breaking. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Farid) (thirteenth century)._ + + + +A CONCEIT + +I hide my love, +I will not say her name. +And yet since I confess +I love, her name is told. +You know that if I love +It must be ... Whom? + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Kalakis Abu El Fath Nasrallah (eleventh century)._ + + + +VALUES + +Since there is excitement +In suffering for a woman, +Let him burn on. +The dust in a wolf's eyes +Is balm of flowers to the wolf +When a flock of sheep has raised it. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +WHAT LOVE IS + +Love starts with a little throb in the heart, +And in the end one dies +Like an ill-treated toy. +Love is born in a look or in four words, +The little spark that burnt the whole house. +Love is at first a look, +And then a smile, +And then a word, +And then a promise, +And then a meeting of two among flowers. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +THE DANCING HEART + +When she came she said: +You know that your love is granted, +Why is your heart trembling? + +And I: +You are bringing joy for my heart +And so my heart is dancing. + +_From the Arabic of Urak El Hutail._ + + + +THE GREAT OFFENCE + +She seemed so bored, +I wanted to embrace her by surprise; +But then the scalding waters +Fell from her eyes and burnt her roses. + +I offered her a cup.... + +And came to paradise.... + +Ah, sorrow, +When she rose from the waves of wine +I thought she would have killed me +With the swords of her desolation.... + +Especially as I had tied her girdle +With the wrong bow. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +AN ESCAPE + +She was beautiful that evening and so gay.... + +In little games +My hand had slipped her mantle, +I am not sure +About her skirts. + +Then in the night's curtain of shadows, +Heavy and discreet, +I asked and she replied: +To-morrow. + +Next day I came +Saying, Remember. + +Words of a night, she said, to bring the day. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +THREE QUEENS + +Three sweet drivers hold the reins, +And hold the places of my heart. +A great people obeys me, +But these three obey me not. +Am I then a lesser king than love? + +_From the Arabic of Haroun El Raschid (eighth century)._ + + + +HER NAILS + +She is as wise as Hippocrates, +As beautiful as Joseph, +As sweet-voiced as David, +As pure as Mary. + +I am as sad as Jacob, +As lonely as Jonah, +As patient as Job, +As unfortunate as Adam. + +When I met her again +And saw her nails +Prettily purpled, +I reproached her for making up +When I was not there. + +She told me gently +That she was no coquette, +But had wept tears of blood +Because I was not there, +And maybe she had dried her eyes +With her little hands. + +I would like to have wept before she wept; +But she wept first +And has the better love. +Her eyes are long eyes, +And her brows are the bows of subtle strong men. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +PERTURBATION AT DAWN + +Day comes.... + +And when she sees the withering of the violet garden +And the saffron garden flowering, +The stars escaping on their black horse +And dawn on her white horse arriving, +She is afraid. + +Against the sighing of her frightened breasts +She puts her hand; +I see what I have never seen, +Five perfect lines on a crystal leaf +Written with coral pens. + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Maatuk (seventeenth century)._ + + + +THE RESURRECTION OF THE TATTOOED GIRL + +Her hands are filled with what I lack, +And on her arms are pictures, +Looking like files of ants forsaking the battalions, +Or hail inlaid by broken clouds on green lawns. + +She fears the arrows of her proper eyes +And has her hands in armour. + +She has stretched her hands in a cup to me, +Begging for my heart. +She has circled me with the black magic of her brows +And shot small arrows at me. + +The black curl that lies upon her temple +Is a scorpion pointing his needle at the stars. + +Her eyes seem tight, tight shut; +But I believe she is awake. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +The poets have muddied all the little fountains. + +Yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house? + +O dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa, +Speak to me, for my camel and I salute you. + +My camel is as tall as a tower, and I make him stand +And give my aching heart to the wind of the desert. + +O erstwhile dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa; +And my tribe in the valleys of Hazn and Samna +And in the valley of Motethalem! + +Salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins +Since Oum El Aythan gathered and went away. + +Now is the dwelling of Abla +In a valley of men who roar like lions. +It will be hard to come to you, O daughter of Makhram. + + * * * * * + +Abla is a green rush +That feeds beside the water. + +But they have taken her to Oneiza +And my tribe feeds in lazy Ghailam valley. + +They fixed the going, and the camels +Waked in the night and evilly prepared. + +I was afraid when I saw the camels +Standing ready among the tents +And eating grain to make them swift. + +I counted forty-two milk camels, +Black as the wings of a black crow. + +White and purple are the lilies of the valley, +But Abla is a branch of flowers. + +Who will guide me to the dwelling of Abla? + +_From the Arabic of Antar (late sixth and early seventh centuries)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +Rise and hold up the curved glass, +And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar. + +Pour wine for us, whose golden colour +Is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron. + +Pour us wine to make us generous +And carelessly happy in the old way. + +Pour us wine that gives the miser +A sumptuous generosity and disregard. + +O Oum-Amr, you have prevented me from the cup +When it should have been moving to the right; +And yet the one of us three that you would not serve +Is not the least worthy. + +How many cups have I not emptied at Balbek, +And emptied at Damas and emptied at Cacerin! + +More cups! more cups! for death will have his day; +His are we and he ours. + + * * * * * + +By herself she is fearless +And gives her arms to the air, +The limbs of a long camel that has not borne. + +She gives the air her breasts, +Unfingered ivory. + +She gives the air her long self and her curved self, +And hips so round and heavy that they are tired. + +All these noble abundances of girlhood +Make the doors divinely narrow and myself insane. + +Columns of marble and ivory in the old way, +And anklets chinking in gold and musical bracelets. + +Without her I am a she-camel that has lost, +And howls in the sand at night. + +Without her I am as sad as an old mother +Hearing of the death of her many sons. + +_From the Arabic of Amr Ebn Kultum (seventh century)._ + + + + +_BALUCHISTAN_ + + + +COMPARISONS + +Touch my hands with your fingers, yellow wallflower. +Did God use a bluer paint +Painting the sky for the gold sun +Or making the sea about your two black stars? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spread his bluest paint +On a hollow sky or a girl's eye, +But on a topaz chain, from you to me. + +Touch my temples with your fingers, scarlet rose. +Did God use a stronger light +When He fashioned and dropped the sun into the sky +Or dropped your black stars into their blue sea? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spend His strongest light +On a sun above or a look of love, +But on a round gold ring, from you to me. + +Touch my cheeks with your fingers, blue hyacinth. +Did God use a whiter silk +Weaving the veil for your fevered roses, +Or spinning the moon that lies across your face? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not waste His whitest web +On veils of silk or moons of milk, +But on a marriage cap, from you to me. + +_Popular Song of Baluchistan._ + + + + +_BURMA_ + + + +A CANKER IN THE HEART + +I made a bitter song +When I was a boy, +About a girl +With hot earth-coloured hair, +Who lived with me +And left me. + +I made a sour song +On her marriage-day, +That ever his kisses +Would be ghosts of mine, +And ever the measure +Of his halting love +Flow to my music. + +It was a silly song, +Dear wife with cool black hair, +And yet when I recall +(At night with you asleep) +That once you gave yourself +Before we met, +I do not quite well know +What song to make. + +_From the Burmese (nineteenth century) (¿ by Asmapur)._ + + + + +_CAMBODIA_ + + + +DISQUIET + +Brother, my thought of you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Goes up about you +As her own scent +Goes up about the rose. + +The bracelets on my arms +Have grown too large +Because you went away. + +I think the sun of love +Melted the snow of parting, +For the white river of tears has overflowed. + +But though I am sad +I am still beautiful, +The girl that you desired +In April. + +Brother, my love for you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Brightens about you +As her own rays +Brighten about the moon. + +_Love Poem of Cambodia._ + + + + +_CAUCASUS_ + + + +VENGEANCE + +Aischa was mine, +My tender cousin, +My blond lover; +And you knew our love, +Uncle without bowels, +Foul old man. + +For a few weights of gold +You sold her to the blacks, +And they will drive a stinking trade +At the dark market; +Your slender daughter, +The free child of our hills. + +She will go to serve the bed +Of a fat man with no God, +A guts that cannot walk, +A belly hiding his own feet, +A rolling paunch +Between itself and love. + +She was slim and quick +Like the antelope of our hills +When he comes down in the summer-time +To bathe in the pools of Tereck, +Her stainless flesh +Was all moonlight. + +Her long silk hair +Was of so fine a gold +And of so honey-like a brown +That bees flew there, +And her red lips +Were flowers in sunlight. + +She was fair, alas, she was fair, +So that her beauty goes +To a garden of dying flowers, +Made one with the girls that mourn +And wither for light and love +Behind the harem bars. + +And you have dirty dreams +That she will be Sultane, +And you will drink and boast +And roll about, +The grinning ancestor +Of little kings. + +Hugging your very wicked gold +Within a greasy belt, +You paddle exulting like a bald ape +That glories to defile, +Unmindful of two hot young streams +Of tears. + +You stole this dirty gold, +For this gold means +Your daughter's freedom +And your nephew's love, +Two fresh and lovely things +Groaning within your belt. + +The sunny playing of our childhood +At the green foot of Elbours, +The starry playing of our youth +Beyond the flowery fences, +These sigh their lost delights +Within your belt. + +Give me the gold; +Damn you, give me the gold.... +You kill my mercy +When you kill my love.... +Hold up your trembling sword; +For this is death. + + * * * * * + +I take the belt from the dead loins +That put away my love, +And turn my sweet white horse +After the caravan.... +With dirty gold and clean steel +I'll set Aischa free. + +_Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + +THE FLIGHT + +Softly into the saddle +Of my black horse with white feet; +Your brothers are frowning +And grasping swords in sleep. +My rifle is as clean as moonlight, +My flints are new; +My long grey sword is sighing +In his blue sheath. +Fatima gave me my grey sword +Of Temrouk steel, +Damascened in red gold +To cut a pathway for the feet of love. + +My eye is dark and keen, +My hand has never trembled on the sword. +If your brothers rise and follow +On their stormy horses, +If they stretch their hot hands +To catch you from my breast, +My rifle shall not sing to them, +My steel shall spare. +My rifle's song is for my yellow girl, +My eye is dark and keen, +I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart +That ever lady loved with in the world. + +My hand upon the sword +Shall be so strong, +He'll find the little laughing place +Where you dance in my breast; +And we'll have no more of the silly world +Where our lips must lie apart. +We'll let death pour our souls +Into one cup, +And mount like joyous birds to God +With hearts on fire, +And God will mingle us into one shape +In an eternal garden of gold stars. + +_Love Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + + +_CHINA_ + + + +WE WERE TWO GREEN RUSHES + +We were two green rushes by opposing banks, + And the small stream ran between. +Not till the water beat us down + Could we be brought together, +Not till the winter came +Could we be mingled in a frosty sleep, + Locked down and close. + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +SONG WRITER PAID WITH AIR + +I sit on a white wood box +Smeared with the black name +Of a seller of white sugar. +The little brown table is so dirty +That if I had food +I do not think I could eat. + +How can I promise violets drunken in wine +For your amusement, +How can I powder your blue cotton dress +With splinters of emerald, +How can I sing you songs of the amber pear, +Or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers +Mingled scents in a rose agate bowl? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE BAD ROAD + +I have seen a pathway shaded by green great trees, +A road bordered by thickets light with flowers. + +My eyes have entered in under the green shadow, +And made a cool journey far along the road. + +But I shall not take the road, +Because it does not lead to her house. + +When she was born +They shut her little feet in iron boxes, +So that my beloved never walks the roads. + +When she was born +They shut her heart in a box of iron, +So that my beloved shall never love me. + +_From the Chinese._ + + + +THE WESTERN WINDOW + +At the head of a thousand roaring warriors, +With the sound of gongs, +My husband has departed +Following glory. + +At first I was overjoyed +To have a young girl's liberty. + +Now I look at the yellowing willow-leaves; +They were green the day he left. + +I wonder if he also was glad? + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +IN LUKEWARM WEATHER + +The women who were girls a long time ago +Are sitting between the flower bushes +And speaking softly together: + +"They pretend that we are old and have white hair; +They say also that our faces +Are not like the spring moons. + +"Perhaps it is a lie; +We cannot see ourselves. + +"Who will tell us for certain +That winter is not at the other side of the mirror, +Obscuring our delights +And covering our hair with frost?" + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON WHITE FROST + +The white frost covers all the arbute-trees, +Like powder on the faces of women. + +Looking from window consider +That a man without women is like a flower +Naked without its leaves. + +To drive away my bitterness + +I write this thought with my narrowed breath +On the white frost. + +_From the Chinese of Wang Chi (sixth and seventh centuries)._ + + + +A FLUTE OF MARVEL + +Under the leaves and cool flowers +The wind brought me the sound of a flute +From far away. + +I cut a branch of willow +And answered with a lazy song. + +Even at night, when all slept, +The birds were listening to a conversation +In their own language. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-763)._ + + + +THE WILLOW-LEAF + +I am in love with a child dreaming at the window. + +Not for her elaborate house +On the banks of Yellow River; + +But for a willow-leaf she has let fall + Into the water. + +I am in love with the east breeze. + +Not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches + White on Eastern Hill; + +But that he has drifted the willow-leaf + Against my boat. + +I am in love with the willow-leaf. + +Not that he speaks of green spring + Coming to us again; + +But that the dreaming girl +Pricked there a name with her embroidery needle, + And the name is mine. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chiu Ling (675-740)._ + + + +A POET LOOKS AT THE MOON + +I hear a woman singing in my garden, +But I look at the moon in spite of her. + +I have no thought of trying to find the singer +Singing in my garden; +I am looking at the moon. + +And I think the moon is honouring me +With a long silver look. + +I blink +As bats fly black across the ray; +But when I raise my head the silver look +Is still upon me. + +The moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror, +And poets are many as dragon scales +On the moonlit sea. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Jo Hsu._ + + + +WE TWO IN A PARK AT NIGHT + +We have walked over the high grass under the wet trees +To the gravel path beside the lake, we two. +A noise of light-stepping shadows follows now +From the dark green mist in which we waded. + +Six geese drop one by one into the shivering lake; +They say "Peeng" and then after a long time, "Peeng," +Swimming out softly to the moon. + +Three of the balancing dancing geese are dim and black, +And three are white and clear because of the moon; +In what explanatory dawn will our souls +Be seen to be the same? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE JADE STAIRCASE + +The jade staircase is bright with dew. + +Slowly, this long night, the queen climbs, +Letting her gauze stockings and her elaborate robe +Drag in the shining water. + +Dazed with the light, +She lowers the crystal blind +Before the door of the pavilion. + +It leaps down like a waterfall in sunlight. + +While the tiny clashing dies down, +Sad and long dreaming, +She watches between the fragments of jade light +The shining of the autumn moon. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-762)._ + + + +THE MORNING SHOWER + +The young lady shows like a thing of light +In the shadowy deeps of a fair window +Grown round with flowers. + +She is naked and leans forward, and her flesh like frost +Gathers the light beyond the stone brim. + +Only the hair made ready for the day +Suggests the charm of modern clothing. + +Her blond eyebrows are the shape of very young moons. + +The shower's bright water overflows +In a pure rain. + +She lifts one arm into an urgent line, +Cooling her rose fingers +On the grey metal of the spray. + +If I could choose my service, I would be the shower +Dashing over her in the sunlight. + +_From the Chinese of J.S. Ling (1901)._ + + + +A VIRTUOUS WIFE + +One moment I place your two bright pearls against my robe, +And the red silk mirrors a rose in each. + +Why did I not meet you before I married? + +See, there are two tears quivering at my lids; +I am giving back your pearls. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chi (770-850)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON A WALL IN SPRING + +It rained last night, +But fair weather has come back +This morning. + +The green clusters of the palm-trees +Open and begin to throw shadows. + +But sorrow drifts slowly down about me. + +I come and go in my room, +Heart-heavy with memories. + +The neighbour green casts shadows of green +On my blind; +The moss, soaked in dew, +Takes the least print +Like delicate velvet. + +I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose +With shadowy underclothes of grenade red. + +How things still live again. + +I go and sit by the day balustrade + +And do nothing + +Except count the plains +And the mountains +And the valleys +And the rivers +That separate from my Spring. + +_From the Chinese (early nineteenth century)._ + + + +A POET THINKS + +The rain is due to fall, +The wind blows softly. + +The branches of the cinnamon are moving, +The begonias stir on the green mounds. + +Bright are the flying leaves, +The falling flowers are many. + +The wind lifted the dry dust, +And he is lifting the wet dust; +Here and there the wind moves everything + +He passes under light gauze +And touches me. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +There are leagues of sky, +And the water is flowing very fast. + +Why do the birds let their feathers +Fall among the clouds? + +I would have them carry my letters, +But the sky is long. + +The stream flows east +And not one wave comes back with news. + +The scented magnolias are shining still, +But always a few are falling. + +I close his box on my guitar of jasper +And lay aside my jade flute. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +Stay with me to-night, +Old songs. + +_From the Chinese of Liu Chi (1311-1375)._ + + + +IN THE COLD NIGHT + +Reading in my book this cold night, +I have forgotten to go to sleep. +The perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover; +The last smoke must have left the hearth +When I was not looking. +My beautiful friend snatches away the lamp. +Do you know what the time is? + +_From the Chinese of Yuan Mei (1715-1797)._ + + + + +_DAGHESTAN_ + + + +WINTER COMES + +Winter scourges his horses +Through the North, +His hair is bitter snow +On the great wind. +The trees are weeping leaves +Because the nests are dead, +Because the flowers were nests of scent +And the nests had singing petals +And the flowers and nests are dead. + +Your voice brings back the songs +Of every nest, +Your eyes bring back the sun +Out of the South, +Violets and roses peep +Where you have laughed the snow away +And kissed the snow away, +And in my heart there is a garden still +For the lost birds. + +_Song of Daghestan._ + + + + +_GEORGIA_ + + + +PART OF A GHAZAL + +Lonely rose out-splendouring legions of roses, +How could the nightingales behold you and not sing? + +_By Rustwell of Georgia (from the Tariel, twelfth century)._ + + + + +_HINDUSTAN_ + + + +FARD + +Love brings the tiny sweat into your hair +Like stars marching in the dead of night. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +INCURABLE + +I desire the door-sill of my beloved + More than a king's house; +I desire the shadow of the wall where her beauty hides + More than the Delhi palaces. +Why did you wait till spring; +Were not my hands already full of red-thorned roses? + My heart is yours, +So that I know not which heart I hear sighing: + Yaquin, Yaquin, Yaquin, foolish Yaquin. + +_From the Hindustani of Yaquin (eighteenth century)._ + + + +A POEM + +Joy fills my eyes, remembering your hair, with tears, + And these tears roll and shine; +Into my thoughts are woven a dark night with raindrops + And the rolling and shining of love songs. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +Ever your rose face or black curls are with Shaguil; +Because your curls are night and your face is day. + +_From the Hindustani of Shaguil (eighteenth century)._ + + + +MORTIFICATION + +Now that the wind has taught your veil to show your eyes and hair, +All the world is bowing down to your dear head; +Faith has crept away to die beside the tomb of prayer, +And men are kneeling to your hair, and God is dead. + +_From the Hindustani of Hatifi (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, +For all the heart's health is to be sick with love. + +_From the Hindustani of Miyan Jagnu (eighteenth century)._ + + + + +_JAPAN_ + + + +GRIEF AND THE SLEEVE + +Tears in the moonlight, +You know why, +Have marred the flowers +On my rose sleeve. +Ask why. + +_From the Japanese of Hide-Yoshi._ + + + +DRINK SONG + +The crows have wakened me +By cawing at the moon. +I pray that I shall not think of him; +I pray so intently +That he begins to fill my whole mind. +This is getting on my nerves; +I wonder if there is any of that wine left. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +A BOAT COMES IN + +Although I shall not see his face +For the low riding of the ship, +The three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak +Will be enough. +But what if I make a mistake +And call to the wrong man? +Or make no sign at all, +And it is he? + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +THE OPINION OF MEN + +My desires are like the white snows on Fuji +That grow but never melt. +I am becoming proud of my bad reputation; +And the more men say, +We cannot understand why she loves him, +The less I care. +I am sure that in a very short time +I shall give myself to him. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +OLD SCENT OF THE PLUM-TREE + +Remembering what passed +Under the scent of the plum-tree, +I asked the plum-tree for tidings +Of that other. +Alas ... the cold moon of spring.... + +_From the Japanese of Fujiwara Ietaka. (1158-1237)._ + + + +AN ORANGE SLEEVE + +In the fifth month, +When orange-trees +Fill all the world with scent, +I think of the sleeve +Of a girl who loved me. + +_From the Japanese of Nari-hira._ + + + +INVITATION + +The chief flower +Of the plum-tree of this isle +Opens to-night.... +Come, singing to the moon, +In the third watch. + +_From the Japanese of a Courtesan of Nagasaki._ + + + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH + +In a life where the clocks +Are slow or fast, +It is a pleasant thing +To die together +As we are dying. + +_From the Japanese of the Wife of Bes-syo Ko-saburo Naga-haru, (sixteenth +century)._ + + + +GREEN FOOD FOR A QUEEN + +I was gathering +Leaves of the Wakana +In springtime. +Why did the snow fall +On my dress? + +_From the Japanese of the Mikado Ko-ko Ten-no, (ninth century)._ + + + +THE CUSHION + +Your arm should only be +A spring night's dream; +If I accepted it to rest my head upon +There would be rumours +And no delight. + +_From the Japanese of the daughter of Taira-no Tsu-gu-naka._ + + + +A SINGLE NIGHT + +Was one night, +And that a night +Without much sleep, +Enough to make me love +All the life long? + +_From the Japanese of the wife of the Mikado Sui-toka In +(twelfth century)._ + + + +AT A DANCE OF GIRLS + +Let the wind's breath +Blow in the glades of the clouds +Until they close; +So that the beauty of these girls +May not escape. + +_From the Japanese of So-dzyo Hend-zyo._ + + + +ALONE ONE NIGHT + +This night, +Long like the drooping feathers +Of the pheasant, +The chain of mountains, +Shall I sleep alone? + +_From the Japanese of Kaik-no Motto-no Hitomaro +(seventh and eighth centuries)._ + + + + +_KAFIRISTAN_ + + + +WALKING UP A HILL AT DAWN + +Here is the wind in the morning; +The kind red face of God +Is looking over the hill +We are climbing. + +To-morrow we are going to marry +And work and play together, +And laugh together at things +Which would not amuse our neighbours. + +_Song of Kafiristan._ + + + +PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE + +Your eyes are black like water-melon pips, +Your lips are red like the red flesh of water-melons, +Your loins are smooth like smooth-rind water-melons. + +You are more beautiful than my favourite among mares, +Your buttocks are sleeker and firmer, +Like her your movements are on legs of light steel. + +Come and sit at my hearth, and I will celebrate your coming; +I will choose from the hundred flocks of each a hundred, +Passing at the foot of the Himalaya, + +The two most silky and most beautiful great sheep. +We will go to the temple and sacrifice one of the two +To the god Pandu, that you may have many children; + +And I will kill the other and roast it whole, +My most fair rose-tree serving as a spit. +I will ask the prettiest eaters and the prettiest drinkers; + +And while they eat and drink greatly for three days, +I will wind silver rings upon your arms and feet +And hang a chain of river gold about your neck. + +_Popular Song of Kafiristan._ + + + + +_KAZACKS_ + + + +YOU DO NOT WANT ME? + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet Tamour-leng was maimed, +Going on crippled feet, +And he conquered the vast of the world. + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet I have one arm to fight for you, +One arm to crush you to my rough breast, +One arm to break men for you. + +It was to shield you from the Khargis +That I drag this stump in the long days. +It has been so with my women; +They would have made you a toy for heat. + +After their chief with his axe once swinging +Cut my left arm, that, severed, bloody, and dead, +Yet struggled on the ground trying to guard you, +I have had pain for long in my arm that's lost. + +Since the silk nets of your grape-lustrous eyes +Ensnared this heart that did not try to guard, +Ever I have a great pain in my heart that's lost. +You do not want me, Zohrah. + +_Kazack poem of the Chief Gahuan-Beyg (1850-1885)._ + + + + +_KOREA_ + + + +TEARS + +How can a heart play any more with life, + After it has found a woman and known tears? + +In vain I shut my windows against the moonlight; + I have estranged sleep. + +The flower of her face is growing in the shadow + Among warm and rustling leaves.... + +I see the sunlight on her house, + I see her curtains of vermilion silk.... + +Here is the almond-coloured dawn; + And there is dew on the petals of my night flower. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +THE DREAM + +I dreamed that I was touching her eyelids, and I awoke +To find her sleepy temples of rose jade + For one heart-beat.... + +Though the moonlight beats upon the sea, + There is no boat. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +SEPARATION + +As water runs in the river, so runs time; +And ever my eyes are wasted of her presence. + +The red flowers of the second moon were yesterday; +To-day the earth has spots of blood, and there are no flowers. + +The wild geese were harnessed to the autumn moon; +They have come, I heard their crying, and they are gone. + +They have passed and given me no message; +I only hear the falling, falling noise of white rain. + +_Song of Korea._ + + + + +_KURDISTAN_ + + + +PARADISE + +Paradise, my darling, know that paradise, +The Prophet-given paradise after death, +Is far and very mysterious and most high; +My habits would be upset in such a place. + +Without impiety, I should be mortally weary +If I went there alone, without my wife; +An ugly crowding of inferior females, +What should I do with the houris? + +What should I do with those tall loaded fruit-trees, +Seeing I could not give the fruit to you? +What by the freshness of those blue streams, +Seeing my face reflected there alone? + +And it might be worse if you came with me, +For all of Allah's Chosen would desire you. +And if Mahomet threw his handkerchief +And took you up and loved you for himself? + +Eyes of my eyes, how could I then defend you? +I could not be at ease and watch him love you; +And if I mutinied against the Prophet, +He, being zealous to love you in his peace, + +Would rise and send me hurrying +Back by the sword-blade thinness of the bridge +From paradise to earth, and in the middle +Flick me down sideways to the fires of hell. + +My skin would cook and be renewed for ever +Where murderers were burning and renewing; +And evil souls, my only crime being love, +Would burn me and annoy me and destroy me. + +If I were there and you in paradise, +I could not even make my prayer to Allah +That in his justice he should give me back +My paradise. + +Let us love, therefore, on the earth together; +Our love is our garden, let us take great care, +Whisper and call pet names and kiss each other +To live our paradise as long as may be. + +_Love Ballad of Kurdistan._ + + + + +_LAOS_ + + + +MISADVENTURE + +Ever at the far side of the current +The fishes hurl and swim, +For pelicans and great birds +Watch and go fishing +On the bank-side. + +No man dare go alone +In the dim great forest, +But if I were as strong +As the green tiger +I would go. + +The holy swan on the sea +Wishes to pass over with his wings, +But I think it would be hard +To go so far. + +If you are still pure, +Tell me, darling; +If you are no longer +Clear like an evening star, +You are the heart of a great tree +Eaten by insects. +Why do you lower your eyes? +Why do you not look at me? + +When the blue elephant +Finds a lotus by the water-side +He takes it up and eats it. +Lemons are not sweeter than sugar. + +If I had the moon at home +I would open my house wide +To the four winds of the horizon, +So that the clouds that surround her +Should escape and be shaken away. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +KHAP-SALUNG + +Seeing that I adore you, +Scarf of golden flowers, +Why do you stay unmarried? +As the liana at a tree's foot +That quivers to wind it round, +So do I wait for you. I pray you +Do not detest me.... + +I have come to say farewell. +Farewell, scarf; +Garden Royal +Where none may enter, +Gaudy money +I may not spend. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +THE HOLY SWAN + +Fair journey, O holy swan with gold wings; +O holy swan that I love, fair journey! +Carry this letter for me to the new land, +The place where my lover labours. +If it rains fly low beneath the trees, +If the sun is hot fly in the forest shadows; +If any ask you where you are going +Do not answer. +You who rise for so long a journey, +Avoid the roofs at the hour when the sun is red. +Carry this letter to the new land of my lover. +If he is faithful, give it to him; +If he has forgotten, read it to him only +And let the lightning burn it afterwards. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + + +_MANCHURIA_ + + + +FIRE AND LOVE + +If you do not want your heart +Burnt at a small flame +Like a spitted sheep, +Fly the love of women. +Fire burns what it touches, +But love burns from afar. + +_Folk Song of Manchuria._ + + + +HEARTS OF WOMEN + +It is hard for a man to tell +The hidden thought in his friend's heart, +And the thought in a man's own heart +Is a thing darker. + +If you have seen a woman's heart +Bare to your eyes, +Go quickly away and never tell +What you have seen there. + +_Street Song of Manchuria._ + + + + +_PERSIA_ + + + +TO HIS LOVE INSTEAD OF A PROMISED PICTURE-BOOK + +_The greater and the lesser ills:_ + He waved his grey hand wearily + Back to the anger of the sea, +Then forward to the blue of hills. + +Out from the shattered barquenteen + The black frieze-coated sailors bore + Their dying despot to the shore +And wove a crazy palanquin. + +They found a valley where the rain + Had worn the fern-wood to a paste + And tiny streams came down in haste +To eastward of the mountain chain. + +And here was handiwork of Cretes, + And olives grew beside a stone, + And one slim phallos stood alone +Blasphemed at by the paroquets. + +Hard by a wall of basalt bars + The night came like a settling bird, + And here he wept and slept and stirred +Faintly beneath the turning stars. + +Then like a splash of saffron whey + That spills from out a bogwood bowl + Oozed from the mountain clefts the whole +Rich and reluctant light of day. + +And when he neither moved nor spoke + And did not heed the morning call, + They laid him underneath the wall +And wrapped him in a purple cloak. + +_From the Modern Persian._ + + + +TOO SHORT A NIGHT + +Lily of Streams lay by my side last night +And to my prayers gave answers of delight; +Day came before our fairy-tale was finished, +Because the tale was long, not short the night. + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +THE ROSES + +Roses are a wandering scent from heaven. +Rose-seller, why do you sell your roses? +For silver? But with the silver from your roses +What can you buy so precious as your roses? + +_From the Persian of Abu-Yshac (middle of the tenth century)._ + + + +I ASKED MY LOVE + +I asked my love: "Why do you make yourself so beautiful?" + "To please myself. +I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness; +The loved one and the lover and the love." + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +A REQUEST + +When I am cold and undesirous and my lids lie dead, +Come to watch by the body that loved you and say: +This is _Rondagui_, whom I killed and my heart regrets for ever. + +_From the Persian of Rondagui (tenth century)._ + + + +SEE YOU HAVE DANCERS + +See you have dancers and wine and a girl like one of the angels + (If they exist), +And find a clear stream singing near its birth and a bed of moss + (If moss exists), +For loving and singing to the dancers and drinking and forgetting hell + (If hell exists), +Because this is a pastime better than paradise + (If paradise exists). + +_From the Persian of Omar Khayyam (eleventh century)._ + + + + +_SIAM_ + + + +THE SIGHING HEART + +I made search for you all my life, and when I found you +There came a trouble on me, +So that it seemed my blood escaped +And my life ran back from me +And my heart slipped into you. +It seems, also, that you are the moon +And that I am at the top of a tree. +If I had wings I would spread them as far as you, +Dear bud, that will not open +Though the kisses of the holy bird knock at your petal door. + +_Song of Siam._ + + + + +_SYRIA_ + + + +HANDING OVER THE GUN + +Kill me if you will not love me. + Here are flints; +Ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard, + On the black powder. + +Only you must not shoot me through the head, + Nor touch my heart; +Because my head is full of the ways of you + And my heart is dead. + +_Song of Syria._ + + + + +_TATARS_ + + + +HONEY + +Young man, +If you try to eat honey +On the blade of a knife, +You will cut yourself. + +If you try to taste honey +On the kiss of a woman, +Taste with the lips only, +If not, young man, +You will bite your own heart. + +_Song of the Tatars._ + + + + +_THIBET_ + + + +THE LOVE OF THE ARCHER PRINCE + +The Khan. + +The son of the Khan. + +The love of the son of the Khan. + +The veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of + the Khan. + +The buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The Archer Prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that + scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love + of the son of the Khan. + +And the girl married the Archer Prince whose love kissed the + buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +_Street Song of Thibet._ + + + + +_TURKESTAN_ + + + +DISTICH + +Your face upon a drop of purple wine +Shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood. + +_From the Turkic of Hussein Baikrani._ + + + +THINGS SEEN IN A BATTLE + +Clear diamond heart, +I have been hunting death +Among the swords. + +But death abhors my shadow, +And I come back +Wounded with memories. + +Your eyes, +For steel is amorous of steel +And there are bright blue sparks. + +Your lips, +I see great bloody roses +Cut in white dead breasts. + +Your bed, +For I see wrestling bodies +Under the evening star. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + +HUNTER'S SONG + +Not a stone from my black sling +Ever misses anything, +But the arrows of your eye +Surer shoot and faster fly. + +Not one creature that I hit +Lingers on to know of it, +But the game that falls to love +Lives and lingers long enough. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + + +_TURKEY_ + + + +THE BATH + +My dreams are bubbles of cool light, +Sunbeams mingled in the light green +Waters of your bath. + +Through fretted spaces in the olive wood +My love adventures with the white sun. + +I dive into the ice-coloured shadows +Where the water is like light blue flowers +Dancing on mirrors of silver. + +The sun rolls under the waters of your bath +Like the body of a strong swimmer. + +And now you cool your feet, +Which have the look of apple flowers, +Under the water on the oval marble +Coloured like yellow roses. + +Your scarlet nipples +Waver under the green kisses of the water, +Flowers drowned in a mountain stream. + +_From the Modern Turkish._ + + + +DISTICH + +Lions tremble at my claws; +And I at a gazelle with eyes. + +_From the Turkish of Sultan Selim I._ + + + +A PROVERB + +Before you love, +Learn to run through snow +Leaving no footprint. + +_From the Turkish._ + + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + +Here are the doleful rains, +And one would say the sky is weeping +The death of the tolerable weather. + +Tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds +And we sit down indoors. + +Now is the time for poetry coloured with summer. +Let it fall on the white paper +As ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree. + +I will dip down my lips into my cup +Each time I wet my brush. + +And keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders, +For time escapes away from you and me +Quicker than birds. + +_From the Chinese of Tu Fu (712-770)._ + + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + +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. + +AFGHANISTAN + +SIKANDER, Alexander the Great. + +SHALIBAGH, the notable garden of Shalimar in Lahore, planted by Shah +Jahan in 1637. + +ABDEL QADIR GILANI, Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, founder of the Qadirite +order of the Dervishes, twelfth century. + +ANNAM + +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 _A Lute of Jade_ which deals delightfully with Po-Chü-i; +and to Lafcadio Hearn's _Romance of the Milky Way._ + +ARABIC + +ANTAR, the hero Antar Ebn Cheddad Ebn Amr Corad, who lived in the late +sixth and early seventh centuries, owes his European reputation to +_Siret Antar_, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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.'" + +My most cordial thanks are due to The Bookworm, of the _Weekly +Dispatch_, for permission to make this long quotation from an article +headed, "The Strange Story of John Duncan, the Arab-Scot," which +appeared over his _nom de plume_ in the issue of that newspaper for +March 30, 1919. + +CHINA + +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 _Coloured Stars_. Mr. Wing is an +American-born Chinese and practises the profession of a valet. + +JAPAN + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH: this poem is a _zi-sei_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +KAZACKS + +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. + +LAOS + +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. + +PERSIA + +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: + + I often wonder what the vintners buy + One-half so precious as the goods they sell. + +THIBET + +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." + + + + + + + + + + +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 9920-8.txt or 9920-8.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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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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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: ASCII + +*** 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. + + + + + + + + + + +The Garden Of Bright Waters + +One Hundred And Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + + +Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +1920 + + + + +Dedication: To My Wife + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +Head in hand, I look at the paper leaf; +It is still white. + +I look at the ink +Dry on the end of my brush. + +My soul sleeps. +Will it ever wake? + +I walk a little in the pouring of the sun +And pass my hands over the higher flowers. + +There is the soft green forest, +There are the sweet lines of the mountains +Carved with snow, red in the sunlight. + +I see the slow march of the clouds, +I hear the crows jeering, and I come back + +To sit and look at the paper leaf, +Which is still white +Under my brush. + +_From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850)._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + + +AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO) + +The Princess of Qulzum +Come, my Beloved! +Ballade of Muhammad Khan +Ghazal of Tavakkul +Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal +Ghazal of Sayyid Ahmad +Ghazal of Pir Muhammad +Ballade of Nurshali +Ghazal of Muhammad Din Tilai +Micra +Ballade of Muhammad Din Tilai +Ghazal of Mira +Ghazal of Majid Shah +Ghazal of Mira +Ballade of Ajam the Washerman +Ghazal of Isa Akhun Zada + + +ANNAM + +The Bamboo Garden +Stranger Things have Happened +Nocturne +The Gao Flower +The Girl of Ke-Mo +The Little Woman of Clear River +Waiting to Marry a Student +A Song for Two + + +ARABIC + +Sand +Two Similes +Melodian +The Lost Lady +Love Brown and Bitter +Okhouan +Lying Down Alone +Old Greek Lovers +Night and Morning +In a Yellow Frame +Because the Good are Never Fair +White and Green and Black Tears +A Conceit +Values +What Love Is +The Dancing Heart +The Great Offence +An Escape +Three Queens +Her Nails +Perturbation at Dawn +The Resurrection of the Tattooed Girl +Moallaka of Antar +Moallaka of Amr Ebn Kultum + + +BALUCHISTAN + +Comparisons + + +BURMA + +A Canker in the Heart + + +CAMBODIA + +Disquiet + + +CAUCASUS + +Vengeance +The Flight + + +CHINA + +We were Two Green Rushes +Song Writer Paid with Air +The Bad Road +The Western Window +In Lukewarm Weather +Written on White Frost +A Flute of Marvel +The Willow-Leaf +A Poet Looks at the Moon +We Two in a Park at Night +The Jade Staircase +The Morning Shower +A Virtuous Wife +Written on a Wall in Spring +A Poet Thinks +In the Cold Night + + +DAGHESTAN + +Winter Comes + + +GEORGIA + +Part of a Ghazal + + +HINDUSTAN + +Fard +Incurable +A Poem +Fard +Mortification +Fard + + +JAPAN + +Grief and the Sleeve +Drink Song +A Boat Comes In +The Opinion of Men +Old Scent of the Plum-tree +An Orange Sleeve +Invitation +The Clocks of Death +Green Food for a Queen +The Cushion +A Single Night +At a Dance of Girls +Alone One Night + + +KAFIRISTAN + +Walking up a Hill at Dawn +Proposal of Marriage + + +KAZACKS + +You do not Want Me, Zohrah + + +KOREA + +Tears +The Dream +Separation + + +KURDISTAN + +Paradise + + +LAOS + +Misadventure +Khap-Salung +The Holy Swan + + +MANCHURIA + +Fire and Love +Hearts of Women + + + +PERSIA + +To His Love instead of a Promised Picture Book +Too Short a Night +The Roses +I Asked my Love +A Request +See You Have Dancers + + +SIAM + +The Sighing Heart + + +SYRIA + +Handing over the Gun + + +TATARS + +Honey + + +THIBET + +The Love of the Archer Prince + + +TURKESTAN + +Distich +Things Seen in Battle +Hunter's Song + + +TURKEY + +The Bath +Distich +A Proverb + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + + + + +_AFGHANISTAN_ + + + +THE PRINCESS OF QULZUM +(BALLADE BY NUR UDDIN) + +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight; +I have seen the daughter of the King of Qulzum passing from grace to + grace. +Yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house +And laughed with a thousand graces. +She has a little pearl and coral cap +And rides in a palanquin with servants about her +And claps her hands, being too proud to call. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"My palanquin is truly green and blue; +I fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure; +I make men run up and down before me, +And am not as young a girl as you pretend. +I am of Iran, of a powerful house, I am pure steel. +I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore, +You walk with a joyous step, +Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy. +A pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens, +I would not that your mother should give my pear-tree +To twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead +Throw rays and light the hearts of far men; +The ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond. +I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine +And my words are chosen. +But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I trust them to you." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things; +And two great saints are my perpetual guards. +There is never a song of _Nur Uddin_ but has in it a great achievement +And is as brilliant as a young hyacinth; +I pour a ray of honey on my disciples, +There is as it were a fire in my ballades. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +COME, MY BELOVED! + +Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved! +The doves are moaning and calling and will not cease. + Come, my beloved! + +"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love. +Sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth." + Come, my beloved! + +The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair, +The balance of your neck is like a jacinth; +You have set a star of green between your brows. + Come, my beloved! + +Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills +Are the soft colours of the airy veil +To your rose knee from your curved almond waist. + Come, my beloved! + +Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags, +Stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings. + Come, my beloved! + +_Muhammad Din_ is wandering; he is drunken and mad; +For a year he has been dying. Send for the doctor! + Come, my beloved! + +_From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth +century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN + +She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower; +Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the + garden. + +Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to + break. +Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well; +She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her. + +She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose; +She breaks not, she is strong. +She has a throne, but comes into the woods for love. + +I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword. +The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as Badri. +She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue + scarf. +Give your garland to _Muhammad Khan_, my idol; +My idol has come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL + +To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city +From which my heart might leap to heaven. + +Her breasts are a garden of white roses +Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves. + +Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing +And doves are moaning with arrows because of her. + +All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh; +She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there. + +Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair.... +You have killed _Tavakkul_, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL + +I am burning, I am crumbled into powder, +I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears. + +Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish; +I return no more, I am counted among the dead. + +I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames; +You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day. + +People have come to see me from far towns, +Great and small, arriving with bare heads, +For I have become one of the great historical lovers. + +In the desire of your red lips +My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses. +It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose +That my heart is taken. + +"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, _Sayyid Kamal_. +I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless." + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD + +My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly; +Day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly. + +Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly; +Setting quickly and heavily and very quietly. + +If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open; +To-morrow is a day when no man buys, +And the caravan is broken up very quietly. + +The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake +_Sayyid Ahmad_ is walking and mourning very quietly. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD + +The season of parting has come up with the wind; +My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation. + +Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless. +None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation. + +There is no one near me noble enough to be told; +I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation. + +She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me. +Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of + separation. + +I am _Pir Muhammad_ and I am stumbling away to die; +She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF NURSHALI + +Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path +When your girl friends go laughing by the road. +"Come in haste this dusk; I have become your nightingale, +And the young girls leave me alone because of you. +I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you; +Take my wrist, for there is no shame +And my father has gone out. +Sit near me on this red bed quietly." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips; +Your hand is strong upon my breast; +My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers." +But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair. +This is _Nurshali_ sighing for the garden; + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +The world is fainting +And falling into a swoon. + +The world is turning and changing; +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain +And pierced a brass hill for the love of Shirin. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love +And death became the hostess of his lady. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated. +You know the story; +There is no lasting love. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_Muhammad Din_ is ill for the matter of a little honey; +This is a moment to be generous. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +MICRA + +When you lie with me and love me, +You give me a second life of young gold; +And when you lie with me and love me not, +I am as one who puts out hands in the dark +And touches cold wet death. + +_From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. +On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses, +They speak about your beauty in Lahore. +You have your mother's lips; +Your ring is frosted with rubies, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies; +I was unhappy and you looked over the wall, +I saw your face among the crimson lilies; +There is no armour that a lover can buy, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers +And they go away. +I have fatigued the wise of many lands, +And my hair is a tangle of serpents. +What is the profit of these shawls without you? +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +"A squadron of my father's men are about me, +And I have woven a collar of yellow flowers. +My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of bhang, +Being a daughter of the daughter of queens. +You cannot touch me because of my palaces, +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song; +For I am a disciple of Abdel Qadir Gilani, +And my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies.... +_Muhammad Din_ awaits the parting of your scarves; +_Tilai_ is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. +I came to ask for alms and have lost my all, +I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me, +And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +The lamp burns and I must play the green moth. +I have stolen her scented rope of flowers, +But the women caught me and built a little gaol +About my heart with your old playthings. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_Mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die +Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief; +It is the hour; make haste. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH + +Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me; +The black dust has covered my pretty one. + +My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend; +How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here. + +I can only dream of the stature of my friend; +The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden. + +Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers; +I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey. + +I am _Majid Shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead; +Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men +Is buried alive under the vault of Time. + +Autumn comes pillaging gardens; +The bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling. + +Wars start up wherever your eye glances, +And the young men moan marching on to the batteries. + +_Mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road; +He has taken his death-wound in battle. + + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN + +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me. +Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow; +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart; +Come to me. + +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart +Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings; +Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart, +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me. + +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more + beautiful +Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings. +The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope; +But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves. + +Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves, +And give yourself once to _Ajam_. Slip away weeping, +Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me. +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA + +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing, +Lend your small ears to my quick sighing. +Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death; +And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes. +Life is a tale ill constructed without love. +Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +I am at your door wasted and white and dying. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam +Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom. +All the world has spied on us and seen our love, +And in four days or five days will be whispering evil. +Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. +After that we will both of us go to prison. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +My quick sighings carry a tender promise; +I will have time to remember in the battle, +Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me. +The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword, +Though I have foes more than the stars +Of a thousand valley starlights. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +I am as strong as Sikander, I am as strong as death; +You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me, +And laughing bloody battalions following after. +_Isa Gal_ is stronger than God; +Do not whip me, do not whip me, +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + + +_ANNAM_ + + + +THE BAMBOO GARDEN + +Old bamboos are about my house, +And the floor of my house is untidy with old books. +It is sweet to rest in the shade of it +And read the poems of the masters. + +But I remember a delightful fisherman +Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening. +In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float +Over the lakes and rivers, +Watching his nets and singing. + +A sweet boy promised to marry me, +But he went away and left +Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift +In the middle of a river. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED + +Do not believe that ink is always black, + Or lime white, or lemon sour; +You cannot ring one bell from two pagodas, +You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son. + I found you binding an orange spray + Of flowers with white flowers; + I never noticed the flower gathering + Of other village ladies. +Would you like me to go and see your father and mother? + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +NOCTURNE + +It is late at night +And the North Star is shining. +The mist covers the rice-fields +And the bamboos +Are whispering full of crickets. +The watch beats on the iron-wood gong, +And priests are ringing the pagoda bells. +We hear the far-away games of peasants +And distant singing in the cottages. + +It is late at night. +As we talk gently, +Sitting by one another, +Life is as beautiful as night. +The red moon is rising +On the mountain side +Like a fire started among the trees. +There is the North Star +Shining like a paper lantern. +The light air brings dew to our faces +And the sound of tamtams beaten far away. +Let us sit like this all night. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GAO FLOWER + +I am the Gao flower high in a tree, +You are the grass Long Mai on the path-side. +When heat comes down after the dews of morning +The flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass, +The grass Long Mai that keeps the fallen Gao. + +Folk who let their daughters grow +Without achieving a husband +Might easily forget to fence their garden, +Or let their radishes grow flower and rank +When they could eat them ripe and tender. + +Come to me, you that I see walk +Every night in a red turban; +Young man with the white turban, come to me. +We will plant marrows together in a garden, +And there may be little marrows for your children. + +I will dye your turban blue and red and yellow, +You with the white turban. +You that are passing with a load of water, +I call you +And you do not even turn your head. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GIRL OF KE-MO + +I'm a girl of Ke-Mo village +Selling my rice wine on the road. +Mine is the strongest rice wine in the land, +Though my bottle is so patched and dirty. +These silly rags are not my body, +The parts you cannot see are counted pleasant; +But you are just too drunk to drink my wine, +And just too plain to lie down on my mat. +He who would drink the wine of the girl of Ke-Mo +Needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE LITTLE WOMAN OF CLEAR RIVER + +Clear River twists nine times about +Clear River; but so deep +That none can see the green sand. +You hear the birds about Clear River: +Dik, dik, dik, dik, Diu dik. + +A little woman with jade eyes +Leans on the wall of a pavilion. +She has the moonrise in her heart +And the singing of love songs +Comes to her up the river. + +She stands and dreams for me +Outside the house by the bamboo door. +In a minute +I will leave my shadow +And talk to her of poetry and love. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +WAITING TO MARRY A STUDENT + +I still walk slowly on the river bank +Where I came singing, +And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +Setting red in the river. +I want Autumn, +I want the leaves to begin falling at once, +So that the cold time may bring us close again +Like K'ien Niue and Chik Nue, the two stars. + +Each year when Autumn comes +The crows make a black bridge across the milky sea, +And then these two poor stars +Can run together in gold and be at peace. +Darling, for my sake work hard +And be received with honour at the Examinations. + +Since I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +I have forgotten how to sing +And how to paddle the canoe across the lake. +I know how to sit down and how to be sad, +And I know how to say nothing; +But every other art has slipped away. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +A SONG FOR TWO + +I have lacquered my teeth to find a husband. + +And I have need of a wife. +Give me a kiss and they will marry us +At Mo-Lao, my village. + +I will marry you if you will wait for me, +Wait till the banana puts forth branches, +And fruit hangs heavy on the Sung-tree, +And the onion flowers; +Wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs, +And the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + + +_ARABIC_ + + + +SAND + +The sand is like acres of wet milk +Poured out under the moonlight; +It crawls up about your brown feet +Like wine trodden from white stars. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +TWO SIMILES + +You have taken away my cloak, +My cloak of weariness; +Take my coat also, +My many-coloured coat of life.... + +On this great nursery floor +I had three toys, +A bright and varnished vow, +A Speckled Monster, best of boys, +True friend to me, and more +Beloved and a thing of cost, +My doll painted like life; and now +One is broken and two are lost. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +MELODIAN + +I have been at this shooting-gallery too long. +It is monotonous how the little coloured balls +Make up and down on their silvery water thread; +It would be pleasant to have money and go instead +To watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls +Of the World-famous Caravan of Dance and Song. + +And I want to go out beyond the turf fires there, +After I've looked at your just smiling face, +To that untented silent dark blue nighted place; +And wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb +And drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ... +You have the most understanding face in all the fair. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +THE LOST LADY + +You are the drowned, +Star that I found +Washed on the rim of the sea +Before the morning. +You are the little dying light +That stopped me in the night. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +LOVE BROWN AND BITTER + +You know so well how to stay me with vapours +Distilled expertly to that unworthy end; +You know the poses of your body I love best +And that I am cheerful with your head on my breast, +You know you please me by disliking one friend; +You read up what amuses me in the papers. + +Who knows me knows I am not of those fools +That gets tired of a woman who is kind to them, +Yet you know not how stifled you render me +By learning me so well, how I long to see +An unpractised girl under your clever phlegm, +A soul not so letter-perfect in the rules. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OKHOUAN + +A mole shows black +Between her mouth and cheek. + +As if a negro, +Coming into a garden, +Wavered between a purple rose +And a scarlet camomile. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +LYING DOWN ALONE + +I shall never see your tired sleep +In the bed that you make beautiful, +Nor hardly ever be a dream +That plays by your dark hair; +Yet I think I know your turning sigh +And your trusting arm's abandonment, +For they are the picture of my night, +My night that does not end. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OLD GREEK LOVERS + +They put wild olive and acanthus up +With tufts of yellow wool above the door +When a man died in Greece and in Greek Islands, + Grey stone by the blue sea, +Or sage-green trees down to the water's edge. + How many clanging years ago + I, also withering into death, sat with him, + Old man of so white hair who only, + Only looked past me into the red fire. +At last his words were all a jumble of plum-trees +And white boys smelling of the sea's green wine +And practice of his lyre. Suddenly + The bleak resurgent mind +Called wonderfully clear: "What mark have I left?" + Crying girls with wine and linen +Washed the straight old body and wrapped up, + And set the doorward feet. +Later for me also under Greek sun +The pendant leaves in green and bitter flakes +Blew out to join the wastage of the world, +And wool, I take it, in the nests of birds. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +NIGHT AND MORNING + +The great brightness of the burning of the stars, +Little frightened love, +Is like your eyes, +When in the heavy dusk +You question the dark blue shadows, +Fearing an evil. + +Below the night +The one clear line of dawn; +As it were your head +Where there is one golden hair +Though your hair is very brown. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Moattaz) (ninth century)._ + + + +IN A YELLOW FRAME + +Her hand tinted to gold with henna +Gave me a cup of wine like gold water, +And I said: The moon rise, the sun rise. + +_From the Arabic of Hefny-bey-Nassif (contemporary)._ + + + +BECAUSE THE GOOD ARE NEVER FAIR + +When she appears the daylight envies her garment, +The wanton daylight envies her garment +To show it to the jealous sun. + +And when she walks, +All women tall and tiny +Want her figure and start crying. + +Because of your mouth, +Long life to the Agata valley, +Long life to pearls. + +Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks, +But I am undecided, +For there is a hint of the tops of flames +In their purple shining. + +_From the Arabic of Ahmed Bey Chawky (contemporary)._ + + + +WHITE AND GREEN AND BLACK TEARS + +Why are your tears so white? +Dear, I have wept so long +That my old tears grow white like my old hair. + +Why are your tears so green? +Dear, the waters are wept away +And the green gall is flowing. + +Why are your tears so black? +Dear, the weeping is over +And the black flash you loved is breaking. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Farid) (thirteenth century)._ + + + +A CONCEIT + +I hide my love, +I will not say her name. +And yet since I confess +I love, her name is told. +You know that if I love +It must be ... Whom? + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Kalakis Abu El Fath Nasrallah (eleventh century)._ + + + +VALUES + +Since there is excitement +In suffering for a woman, +Let him burn on. +The dust in a wolf's eyes +Is balm of flowers to the wolf +When a flock of sheep has raised it. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +WHAT LOVE IS + +Love starts with a little throb in the heart, +And in the end one dies +Like an ill-treated toy. +Love is born in a look or in four words, +The little spark that burnt the whole house. +Love is at first a look, +And then a smile, +And then a word, +And then a promise, +And then a meeting of two among flowers. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +THE DANCING HEART + +When she came she said: +You know that your love is granted, +Why is your heart trembling? + +And I: +You are bringing joy for my heart +And so my heart is dancing. + +_From the Arabic of Urak El Hutail._ + + + +THE GREAT OFFENCE + +She seemed so bored, +I wanted to embrace her by surprise; +But then the scalding waters +Fell from her eyes and burnt her roses. + +I offered her a cup.... + +And came to paradise.... + +Ah, sorrow, +When she rose from the waves of wine +I thought she would have killed me +With the swords of her desolation.... + +Especially as I had tied her girdle +With the wrong bow. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +AN ESCAPE + +She was beautiful that evening and so gay.... + +In little games +My hand had slipped her mantle, +I am not sure +About her skirts. + +Then in the night's curtain of shadows, +Heavy and discreet, +I asked and she replied: +To-morrow. + +Next day I came +Saying, Remember. + +Words of a night, she said, to bring the day. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +THREE QUEENS + +Three sweet drivers hold the reins, +And hold the places of my heart. +A great people obeys me, +But these three obey me not. +Am I then a lesser king than love? + +_From the Arabic of Haroun El Raschid (eighth century)._ + + + +HER NAILS + +She is as wise as Hippocrates, +As beautiful as Joseph, +As sweet-voiced as David, +As pure as Mary. + +I am as sad as Jacob, +As lonely as Jonah, +As patient as Job, +As unfortunate as Adam. + +When I met her again +And saw her nails +Prettily purpled, +I reproached her for making up +When I was not there. + +She told me gently +That she was no coquette, +But had wept tears of blood +Because I was not there, +And maybe she had dried her eyes +With her little hands. + +I would like to have wept before she wept; +But she wept first +And has the better love. +Her eyes are long eyes, +And her brows are the bows of subtle strong men. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +PERTURBATION AT DAWN + +Day comes.... + +And when she sees the withering of the violet garden +And the saffron garden flowering, +The stars escaping on their black horse +And dawn on her white horse arriving, +She is afraid. + +Against the sighing of her frightened breasts +She puts her hand; +I see what I have never seen, +Five perfect lines on a crystal leaf +Written with coral pens. + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Maatuk (seventeenth century)._ + + + +THE RESURRECTION OF THE TATTOOED GIRL + +Her hands are filled with what I lack, +And on her arms are pictures, +Looking like files of ants forsaking the battalions, +Or hail inlaid by broken clouds on green lawns. + +She fears the arrows of her proper eyes +And has her hands in armour. + +She has stretched her hands in a cup to me, +Begging for my heart. +She has circled me with the black magic of her brows +And shot small arrows at me. + +The black curl that lies upon her temple +Is a scorpion pointing his needle at the stars. + +Her eyes seem tight, tight shut; +But I believe she is awake. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +The poets have muddied all the little fountains. + +Yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house? + +O dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa, +Speak to me, for my camel and I salute you. + +My camel is as tall as a tower, and I make him stand +And give my aching heart to the wind of the desert. + +O erstwhile dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa; +And my tribe in the valleys of Hazn and Samna +And in the valley of Motethalem! + +Salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins +Since Oum El Aythan gathered and went away. + +Now is the dwelling of Abla +In a valley of men who roar like lions. +It will be hard to come to you, O daughter of Makhram. + + * * * * * + +Abla is a green rush +That feeds beside the water. + +But they have taken her to Oneiza +And my tribe feeds in lazy Ghailam valley. + +They fixed the going, and the camels +Waked in the night and evilly prepared. + +I was afraid when I saw the camels +Standing ready among the tents +And eating grain to make them swift. + +I counted forty-two milk camels, +Black as the wings of a black crow. + +White and purple are the lilies of the valley, +But Abla is a branch of flowers. + +Who will guide me to the dwelling of Abla? + +_From the Arabic of Antar (late sixth and early seventh centuries)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +Rise and hold up the curved glass, +And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar. + +Pour wine for us, whose golden colour +Is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron. + +Pour us wine to make us generous +And carelessly happy in the old way. + +Pour us wine that gives the miser +A sumptuous generosity and disregard. + +O Oum-Amr, you have prevented me from the cup +When it should have been moving to the right; +And yet the one of us three that you would not serve +Is not the least worthy. + +How many cups have I not emptied at Balbek, +And emptied at Damas and emptied at Cacerin! + +More cups! more cups! for death will have his day; +His are we and he ours. + + * * * * * + +By herself she is fearless +And gives her arms to the air, +The limbs of a long camel that has not borne. + +She gives the air her breasts, +Unfingered ivory. + +She gives the air her long self and her curved self, +And hips so round and heavy that they are tired. + +All these noble abundances of girlhood +Make the doors divinely narrow and myself insane. + +Columns of marble and ivory in the old way, +And anklets chinking in gold and musical bracelets. + +Without her I am a she-camel that has lost, +And howls in the sand at night. + +Without her I am as sad as an old mother +Hearing of the death of her many sons. + +_From the Arabic of Amr Ebn Kultum (seventh century)._ + + + + +_BALUCHISTAN_ + + + +COMPARISONS + +Touch my hands with your fingers, yellow wallflower. +Did God use a bluer paint +Painting the sky for the gold sun +Or making the sea about your two black stars? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spread his bluest paint +On a hollow sky or a girl's eye, +But on a topaz chain, from you to me. + +Touch my temples with your fingers, scarlet rose. +Did God use a stronger light +When He fashioned and dropped the sun into the sky +Or dropped your black stars into their blue sea? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spend His strongest light +On a sun above or a look of love, +But on a round gold ring, from you to me. + +Touch my cheeks with your fingers, blue hyacinth. +Did God use a whiter silk +Weaving the veil for your fevered roses, +Or spinning the moon that lies across your face? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not waste His whitest web +On veils of silk or moons of milk, +But on a marriage cap, from you to me. + +_Popular Song of Baluchistan._ + + + + +_BURMA_ + + + +A CANKER IN THE HEART + +I made a bitter song +When I was a boy, +About a girl +With hot earth-coloured hair, +Who lived with me +And left me. + +I made a sour song +On her marriage-day, +That ever his kisses +Would be ghosts of mine, +And ever the measure +Of his halting love +Flow to my music. + +It was a silly song, +Dear wife with cool black hair, +And yet when I recall +(At night with you asleep) +That once you gave yourself +Before we met, +I do not quite well know +What song to make. + +_From the Burmese (nineteenth century) (? by Asmapur)._ + + + + +_CAMBODIA_ + + + +DISQUIET + +Brother, my thought of you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Goes up about you +As her own scent +Goes up about the rose. + +The bracelets on my arms +Have grown too large +Because you went away. + +I think the sun of love +Melted the snow of parting, +For the white river of tears has overflowed. + +But though I am sad +I am still beautiful, +The girl that you desired +In April. + +Brother, my love for you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Brightens about you +As her own rays +Brighten about the moon. + +_Love Poem of Cambodia._ + + + + +_CAUCASUS_ + + + +VENGEANCE + +Aischa was mine, +My tender cousin, +My blond lover; +And you knew our love, +Uncle without bowels, +Foul old man. + +For a few weights of gold +You sold her to the blacks, +And they will drive a stinking trade +At the dark market; +Your slender daughter, +The free child of our hills. + +She will go to serve the bed +Of a fat man with no God, +A guts that cannot walk, +A belly hiding his own feet, +A rolling paunch +Between itself and love. + +She was slim and quick +Like the antelope of our hills +When he comes down in the summer-time +To bathe in the pools of Tereck, +Her stainless flesh +Was all moonlight. + +Her long silk hair +Was of so fine a gold +And of so honey-like a brown +That bees flew there, +And her red lips +Were flowers in sunlight. + +She was fair, alas, she was fair, +So that her beauty goes +To a garden of dying flowers, +Made one with the girls that mourn +And wither for light and love +Behind the harem bars. + +And you have dirty dreams +That she will be Sultane, +And you will drink and boast +And roll about, +The grinning ancestor +Of little kings. + +Hugging your very wicked gold +Within a greasy belt, +You paddle exulting like a bald ape +That glories to defile, +Unmindful of two hot young streams +Of tears. + +You stole this dirty gold, +For this gold means +Your daughter's freedom +And your nephew's love, +Two fresh and lovely things +Groaning within your belt. + +The sunny playing of our childhood +At the green foot of Elbours, +The starry playing of our youth +Beyond the flowery fences, +These sigh their lost delights +Within your belt. + +Give me the gold; +Damn you, give me the gold.... +You kill my mercy +When you kill my love.... +Hold up your trembling sword; +For this is death. + + * * * * * + +I take the belt from the dead loins +That put away my love, +And turn my sweet white horse +After the caravan.... +With dirty gold and clean steel +I'll set Aischa free. + +_Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + +THE FLIGHT + +Softly into the saddle +Of my black horse with white feet; +Your brothers are frowning +And grasping swords in sleep. +My rifle is as clean as moonlight, +My flints are new; +My long grey sword is sighing +In his blue sheath. +Fatima gave me my grey sword +Of Temrouk steel, +Damascened in red gold +To cut a pathway for the feet of love. + +My eye is dark and keen, +My hand has never trembled on the sword. +If your brothers rise and follow +On their stormy horses, +If they stretch their hot hands +To catch you from my breast, +My rifle shall not sing to them, +My steel shall spare. +My rifle's song is for my yellow girl, +My eye is dark and keen, +I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart +That ever lady loved with in the world. + +My hand upon the sword +Shall be so strong, +He'll find the little laughing place +Where you dance in my breast; +And we'll have no more of the silly world +Where our lips must lie apart. +We'll let death pour our souls +Into one cup, +And mount like joyous birds to God +With hearts on fire, +And God will mingle us into one shape +In an eternal garden of gold stars. + +_Love Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + + +_CHINA_ + + + +WE WERE TWO GREEN RUSHES + +We were two green rushes by opposing banks, + And the small stream ran between. +Not till the water beat us down + Could we be brought together, +Not till the winter came +Could we be mingled in a frosty sleep, + Locked down and close. + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +SONG WRITER PAID WITH AIR + +I sit on a white wood box +Smeared with the black name +Of a seller of white sugar. +The little brown table is so dirty +That if I had food +I do not think I could eat. + +How can I promise violets drunken in wine +For your amusement, +How can I powder your blue cotton dress +With splinters of emerald, +How can I sing you songs of the amber pear, +Or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers +Mingled scents in a rose agate bowl? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE BAD ROAD + +I have seen a pathway shaded by green great trees, +A road bordered by thickets light with flowers. + +My eyes have entered in under the green shadow, +And made a cool journey far along the road. + +But I shall not take the road, +Because it does not lead to her house. + +When she was born +They shut her little feet in iron boxes, +So that my beloved never walks the roads. + +When she was born +They shut her heart in a box of iron, +So that my beloved shall never love me. + +_From the Chinese._ + + + +THE WESTERN WINDOW + +At the head of a thousand roaring warriors, +With the sound of gongs, +My husband has departed +Following glory. + +At first I was overjoyed +To have a young girl's liberty. + +Now I look at the yellowing willow-leaves; +They were green the day he left. + +I wonder if he also was glad? + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +IN LUKEWARM WEATHER + +The women who were girls a long time ago +Are sitting between the flower bushes +And speaking softly together: + +"They pretend that we are old and have white hair; +They say also that our faces +Are not like the spring moons. + +"Perhaps it is a lie; +We cannot see ourselves. + +"Who will tell us for certain +That winter is not at the other side of the mirror, +Obscuring our delights +And covering our hair with frost?" + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON WHITE FROST + +The white frost covers all the arbute-trees, +Like powder on the faces of women. + +Looking from window consider +That a man without women is like a flower +Naked without its leaves. + +To drive away my bitterness + +I write this thought with my narrowed breath +On the white frost. + +_From the Chinese of Wang Chi (sixth and seventh centuries)._ + + + +A FLUTE OF MARVEL + +Under the leaves and cool flowers +The wind brought me the sound of a flute +From far away. + +I cut a branch of willow +And answered with a lazy song. + +Even at night, when all slept, +The birds were listening to a conversation +In their own language. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-763)._ + + + +THE WILLOW-LEAF + +I am in love with a child dreaming at the window. + +Not for her elaborate house +On the banks of Yellow River; + +But for a willow-leaf she has let fall + Into the water. + +I am in love with the east breeze. + +Not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches + White on Eastern Hill; + +But that he has drifted the willow-leaf + Against my boat. + +I am in love with the willow-leaf. + +Not that he speaks of green spring + Coming to us again; + +But that the dreaming girl +Pricked there a name with her embroidery needle, + And the name is mine. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chiu Ling (675-740)._ + + + +A POET LOOKS AT THE MOON + +I hear a woman singing in my garden, +But I look at the moon in spite of her. + +I have no thought of trying to find the singer +Singing in my garden; +I am looking at the moon. + +And I think the moon is honouring me +With a long silver look. + +I blink +As bats fly black across the ray; +But when I raise my head the silver look +Is still upon me. + +The moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror, +And poets are many as dragon scales +On the moonlit sea. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Jo Hsu._ + + + +WE TWO IN A PARK AT NIGHT + +We have walked over the high grass under the wet trees +To the gravel path beside the lake, we two. +A noise of light-stepping shadows follows now +From the dark green mist in which we waded. + +Six geese drop one by one into the shivering lake; +They say "Peeng" and then after a long time, "Peeng," +Swimming out softly to the moon. + +Three of the balancing dancing geese are dim and black, +And three are white and clear because of the moon; +In what explanatory dawn will our souls +Be seen to be the same? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE JADE STAIRCASE + +The jade staircase is bright with dew. + +Slowly, this long night, the queen climbs, +Letting her gauze stockings and her elaborate robe +Drag in the shining water. + +Dazed with the light, +She lowers the crystal blind +Before the door of the pavilion. + +It leaps down like a waterfall in sunlight. + +While the tiny clashing dies down, +Sad and long dreaming, +She watches between the fragments of jade light +The shining of the autumn moon. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-762)._ + + + +THE MORNING SHOWER + +The young lady shows like a thing of light +In the shadowy deeps of a fair window +Grown round with flowers. + +She is naked and leans forward, and her flesh like frost +Gathers the light beyond the stone brim. + +Only the hair made ready for the day +Suggests the charm of modern clothing. + +Her blond eyebrows are the shape of very young moons. + +The shower's bright water overflows +In a pure rain. + +She lifts one arm into an urgent line, +Cooling her rose fingers +On the grey metal of the spray. + +If I could choose my service, I would be the shower +Dashing over her in the sunlight. + +_From the Chinese of J.S. Ling (1901)._ + + + +A VIRTUOUS WIFE + +One moment I place your two bright pearls against my robe, +And the red silk mirrors a rose in each. + +Why did I not meet you before I married? + +See, there are two tears quivering at my lids; +I am giving back your pearls. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chi (770-850)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON A WALL IN SPRING + +It rained last night, +But fair weather has come back +This morning. + +The green clusters of the palm-trees +Open and begin to throw shadows. + +But sorrow drifts slowly down about me. + +I come and go in my room, +Heart-heavy with memories. + +The neighbour green casts shadows of green +On my blind; +The moss, soaked in dew, +Takes the least print +Like delicate velvet. + +I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose +With shadowy underclothes of grenade red. + +How things still live again. + +I go and sit by the day balustrade + +And do nothing + +Except count the plains +And the mountains +And the valleys +And the rivers +That separate from my Spring. + +_From the Chinese (early nineteenth century)._ + + + +A POET THINKS + +The rain is due to fall, +The wind blows softly. + +The branches of the cinnamon are moving, +The begonias stir on the green mounds. + +Bright are the flying leaves, +The falling flowers are many. + +The wind lifted the dry dust, +And he is lifting the wet dust; +Here and there the wind moves everything + +He passes under light gauze +And touches me. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +There are leagues of sky, +And the water is flowing very fast. + +Why do the birds let their feathers +Fall among the clouds? + +I would have them carry my letters, +But the sky is long. + +The stream flows east +And not one wave comes back with news. + +The scented magnolias are shining still, +But always a few are falling. + +I close his box on my guitar of jasper +And lay aside my jade flute. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +Stay with me to-night, +Old songs. + +_From the Chinese of Liu Chi (1311-1375)._ + + + +IN THE COLD NIGHT + +Reading in my book this cold night, +I have forgotten to go to sleep. +The perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover; +The last smoke must have left the hearth +When I was not looking. +My beautiful friend snatches away the lamp. +Do you know what the time is? + +_From the Chinese of Yuan Mei (1715-1797)._ + + + + +_DAGHESTAN_ + + + +WINTER COMES + +Winter scourges his horses +Through the North, +His hair is bitter snow +On the great wind. +The trees are weeping leaves +Because the nests are dead, +Because the flowers were nests of scent +And the nests had singing petals +And the flowers and nests are dead. + +Your voice brings back the songs +Of every nest, +Your eyes bring back the sun +Out of the South, +Violets and roses peep +Where you have laughed the snow away +And kissed the snow away, +And in my heart there is a garden still +For the lost birds. + +_Song of Daghestan._ + + + + +_GEORGIA_ + + + +PART OF A GHAZAL + +Lonely rose out-splendouring legions of roses, +How could the nightingales behold you and not sing? + +_By Rustwell of Georgia (from the Tariel, twelfth century)._ + + + + +_HINDUSTAN_ + + + +FARD + +Love brings the tiny sweat into your hair +Like stars marching in the dead of night. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +INCURABLE + +I desire the door-sill of my beloved + More than a king's house; +I desire the shadow of the wall where her beauty hides + More than the Delhi palaces. +Why did you wait till spring; +Were not my hands already full of red-thorned roses? + My heart is yours, +So that I know not which heart I hear sighing: + Yaquin, Yaquin, Yaquin, foolish Yaquin. + +_From the Hindustani of Yaquin (eighteenth century)._ + + + +A POEM + +Joy fills my eyes, remembering your hair, with tears, + And these tears roll and shine; +Into my thoughts are woven a dark night with raindrops + And the rolling and shining of love songs. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +Ever your rose face or black curls are with Shaguil; +Because your curls are night and your face is day. + +_From the Hindustani of Shaguil (eighteenth century)._ + + + +MORTIFICATION + +Now that the wind has taught your veil to show your eyes and hair, +All the world is bowing down to your dear head; +Faith has crept away to die beside the tomb of prayer, +And men are kneeling to your hair, and God is dead. + +_From the Hindustani of Hatifi (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, +For all the heart's health is to be sick with love. + +_From the Hindustani of Miyan Jagnu (eighteenth century)._ + + + + +_JAPAN_ + + + +GRIEF AND THE SLEEVE + +Tears in the moonlight, +You know why, +Have marred the flowers +On my rose sleeve. +Ask why. + +_From the Japanese of Hide-Yoshi._ + + + +DRINK SONG + +The crows have wakened me +By cawing at the moon. +I pray that I shall not think of him; +I pray so intently +That he begins to fill my whole mind. +This is getting on my nerves; +I wonder if there is any of that wine left. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +A BOAT COMES IN + +Although I shall not see his face +For the low riding of the ship, +The three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak +Will be enough. +But what if I make a mistake +And call to the wrong man? +Or make no sign at all, +And it is he? + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +THE OPINION OF MEN + +My desires are like the white snows on Fuji +That grow but never melt. +I am becoming proud of my bad reputation; +And the more men say, +We cannot understand why she loves him, +The less I care. +I am sure that in a very short time +I shall give myself to him. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +OLD SCENT OF THE PLUM-TREE + +Remembering what passed +Under the scent of the plum-tree, +I asked the plum-tree for tidings +Of that other. +Alas ... the cold moon of spring.... + +_From the Japanese of Fujiwara Ietaka. (1158-1237)._ + + + +AN ORANGE SLEEVE + +In the fifth month, +When orange-trees +Fill all the world with scent, +I think of the sleeve +Of a girl who loved me. + +_From the Japanese of Nari-hira._ + + + +INVITATION + +The chief flower +Of the plum-tree of this isle +Opens to-night.... +Come, singing to the moon, +In the third watch. + +_From the Japanese of a Courtesan of Nagasaki._ + + + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH + +In a life where the clocks +Are slow or fast, +It is a pleasant thing +To die together +As we are dying. + +_From the Japanese of the Wife of Bes-syo Ko-saburo Naga-haru, (sixteenth +century)._ + + + +GREEN FOOD FOR A QUEEN + +I was gathering +Leaves of the Wakana +In springtime. +Why did the snow fall +On my dress? + +_From the Japanese of the Mikado Ko-ko Ten-no, (ninth century)._ + + + +THE CUSHION + +Your arm should only be +A spring night's dream; +If I accepted it to rest my head upon +There would be rumours +And no delight. + +_From the Japanese of the daughter of Taira-no Tsu-gu-naka._ + + + +A SINGLE NIGHT + +Was one night, +And that a night +Without much sleep, +Enough to make me love +All the life long? + +_From the Japanese of the wife of the Mikado Sui-toka In +(twelfth century)._ + + + +AT A DANCE OF GIRLS + +Let the wind's breath +Blow in the glades of the clouds +Until they close; +So that the beauty of these girls +May not escape. + +_From the Japanese of So-dzyo Hend-zyo._ + + + +ALONE ONE NIGHT + +This night, +Long like the drooping feathers +Of the pheasant, +The chain of mountains, +Shall I sleep alone? + +_From the Japanese of Kaik-no Motto-no Hitomaro +(seventh and eighth centuries)._ + + + + +_KAFIRISTAN_ + + + +WALKING UP A HILL AT DAWN + +Here is the wind in the morning; +The kind red face of God +Is looking over the hill +We are climbing. + +To-morrow we are going to marry +And work and play together, +And laugh together at things +Which would not amuse our neighbours. + +_Song of Kafiristan._ + + + +PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE + +Your eyes are black like water-melon pips, +Your lips are red like the red flesh of water-melons, +Your loins are smooth like smooth-rind water-melons. + +You are more beautiful than my favourite among mares, +Your buttocks are sleeker and firmer, +Like her your movements are on legs of light steel. + +Come and sit at my hearth, and I will celebrate your coming; +I will choose from the hundred flocks of each a hundred, +Passing at the foot of the Himalaya, + +The two most silky and most beautiful great sheep. +We will go to the temple and sacrifice one of the two +To the god Pandu, that you may have many children; + +And I will kill the other and roast it whole, +My most fair rose-tree serving as a spit. +I will ask the prettiest eaters and the prettiest drinkers; + +And while they eat and drink greatly for three days, +I will wind silver rings upon your arms and feet +And hang a chain of river gold about your neck. + +_Popular Song of Kafiristan._ + + + + +_KAZACKS_ + + + +YOU DO NOT WANT ME? + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet Tamour-leng was maimed, +Going on crippled feet, +And he conquered the vast of the world. + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet I have one arm to fight for you, +One arm to crush you to my rough breast, +One arm to break men for you. + +It was to shield you from the Khargis +That I drag this stump in the long days. +It has been so with my women; +They would have made you a toy for heat. + +After their chief with his axe once swinging +Cut my left arm, that, severed, bloody, and dead, +Yet struggled on the ground trying to guard you, +I have had pain for long in my arm that's lost. + +Since the silk nets of your grape-lustrous eyes +Ensnared this heart that did not try to guard, +Ever I have a great pain in my heart that's lost. +You do not want me, Zohrah. + +_Kazack poem of the Chief Gahuan-Beyg (1850-1885)._ + + + + +_KOREA_ + + + +TEARS + +How can a heart play any more with life, + After it has found a woman and known tears? + +In vain I shut my windows against the moonlight; + I have estranged sleep. + +The flower of her face is growing in the shadow + Among warm and rustling leaves.... + +I see the sunlight on her house, + I see her curtains of vermilion silk.... + +Here is the almond-coloured dawn; + And there is dew on the petals of my night flower. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +THE DREAM + +I dreamed that I was touching her eyelids, and I awoke +To find her sleepy temples of rose jade + For one heart-beat.... + +Though the moonlight beats upon the sea, + There is no boat. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +SEPARATION + +As water runs in the river, so runs time; +And ever my eyes are wasted of her presence. + +The red flowers of the second moon were yesterday; +To-day the earth has spots of blood, and there are no flowers. + +The wild geese were harnessed to the autumn moon; +They have come, I heard their crying, and they are gone. + +They have passed and given me no message; +I only hear the falling, falling noise of white rain. + +_Song of Korea._ + + + + +_KURDISTAN_ + + + +PARADISE + +Paradise, my darling, know that paradise, +The Prophet-given paradise after death, +Is far and very mysterious and most high; +My habits would be upset in such a place. + +Without impiety, I should be mortally weary +If I went there alone, without my wife; +An ugly crowding of inferior females, +What should I do with the houris? + +What should I do with those tall loaded fruit-trees, +Seeing I could not give the fruit to you? +What by the freshness of those blue streams, +Seeing my face reflected there alone? + +And it might be worse if you came with me, +For all of Allah's Chosen would desire you. +And if Mahomet threw his handkerchief +And took you up and loved you for himself? + +Eyes of my eyes, how could I then defend you? +I could not be at ease and watch him love you; +And if I mutinied against the Prophet, +He, being zealous to love you in his peace, + +Would rise and send me hurrying +Back by the sword-blade thinness of the bridge +From paradise to earth, and in the middle +Flick me down sideways to the fires of hell. + +My skin would cook and be renewed for ever +Where murderers were burning and renewing; +And evil souls, my only crime being love, +Would burn me and annoy me and destroy me. + +If I were there and you in paradise, +I could not even make my prayer to Allah +That in his justice he should give me back +My paradise. + +Let us love, therefore, on the earth together; +Our love is our garden, let us take great care, +Whisper and call pet names and kiss each other +To live our paradise as long as may be. + +_Love Ballad of Kurdistan._ + + + + +_LAOS_ + + + +MISADVENTURE + +Ever at the far side of the current +The fishes hurl and swim, +For pelicans and great birds +Watch and go fishing +On the bank-side. + +No man dare go alone +In the dim great forest, +But if I were as strong +As the green tiger +I would go. + +The holy swan on the sea +Wishes to pass over with his wings, +But I think it would be hard +To go so far. + +If you are still pure, +Tell me, darling; +If you are no longer +Clear like an evening star, +You are the heart of a great tree +Eaten by insects. +Why do you lower your eyes? +Why do you not look at me? + +When the blue elephant +Finds a lotus by the water-side +He takes it up and eats it. +Lemons are not sweeter than sugar. + +If I had the moon at home +I would open my house wide +To the four winds of the horizon, +So that the clouds that surround her +Should escape and be shaken away. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +KHAP-SALUNG + +Seeing that I adore you, +Scarf of golden flowers, +Why do you stay unmarried? +As the liana at a tree's foot +That quivers to wind it round, +So do I wait for you. I pray you +Do not detest me.... + +I have come to say farewell. +Farewell, scarf; +Garden Royal +Where none may enter, +Gaudy money +I may not spend. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +THE HOLY SWAN + +Fair journey, O holy swan with gold wings; +O holy swan that I love, fair journey! +Carry this letter for me to the new land, +The place where my lover labours. +If it rains fly low beneath the trees, +If the sun is hot fly in the forest shadows; +If any ask you where you are going +Do not answer. +You who rise for so long a journey, +Avoid the roofs at the hour when the sun is red. +Carry this letter to the new land of my lover. +If he is faithful, give it to him; +If he has forgotten, read it to him only +And let the lightning burn it afterwards. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + + +_MANCHURIA_ + + + +FIRE AND LOVE + +If you do not want your heart +Burnt at a small flame +Like a spitted sheep, +Fly the love of women. +Fire burns what it touches, +But love burns from afar. + +_Folk Song of Manchuria._ + + + +HEARTS OF WOMEN + +It is hard for a man to tell +The hidden thought in his friend's heart, +And the thought in a man's own heart +Is a thing darker. + +If you have seen a woman's heart +Bare to your eyes, +Go quickly away and never tell +What you have seen there. + +_Street Song of Manchuria._ + + + + +_PERSIA_ + + + +TO HIS LOVE INSTEAD OF A PROMISED PICTURE-BOOK + +_The greater and the lesser ills:_ + He waved his grey hand wearily + Back to the anger of the sea, +Then forward to the blue of hills. + +Out from the shattered barquenteen + The black frieze-coated sailors bore + Their dying despot to the shore +And wove a crazy palanquin. + +They found a valley where the rain + Had worn the fern-wood to a paste + And tiny streams came down in haste +To eastward of the mountain chain. + +And here was handiwork of Cretes, + And olives grew beside a stone, + And one slim phallos stood alone +Blasphemed at by the paroquets. + +Hard by a wall of basalt bars + The night came like a settling bird, + And here he wept and slept and stirred +Faintly beneath the turning stars. + +Then like a splash of saffron whey + That spills from out a bogwood bowl + Oozed from the mountain clefts the whole +Rich and reluctant light of day. + +And when he neither moved nor spoke + And did not heed the morning call, + They laid him underneath the wall +And wrapped him in a purple cloak. + +_From the Modern Persian._ + + + +TOO SHORT A NIGHT + +Lily of Streams lay by my side last night +And to my prayers gave answers of delight; +Day came before our fairy-tale was finished, +Because the tale was long, not short the night. + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +THE ROSES + +Roses are a wandering scent from heaven. +Rose-seller, why do you sell your roses? +For silver? But with the silver from your roses +What can you buy so precious as your roses? + +_From the Persian of Abu-Yshac (middle of the tenth century)._ + + + +I ASKED MY LOVE + +I asked my love: "Why do you make yourself so beautiful?" + "To please myself. +I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness; +The loved one and the lover and the love." + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +A REQUEST + +When I am cold and undesirous and my lids lie dead, +Come to watch by the body that loved you and say: +This is _Rondagui_, whom I killed and my heart regrets for ever. + +_From the Persian of Rondagui (tenth century)._ + + + +SEE YOU HAVE DANCERS + +See you have dancers and wine and a girl like one of the angels + (If they exist), +And find a clear stream singing near its birth and a bed of moss + (If moss exists), +For loving and singing to the dancers and drinking and forgetting hell + (If hell exists), +Because this is a pastime better than paradise + (If paradise exists). + +_From the Persian of Omar Khayyam (eleventh century)._ + + + + +_SIAM_ + + + +THE SIGHING HEART + +I made search for you all my life, and when I found you +There came a trouble on me, +So that it seemed my blood escaped +And my life ran back from me +And my heart slipped into you. +It seems, also, that you are the moon +And that I am at the top of a tree. +If I had wings I would spread them as far as you, +Dear bud, that will not open +Though the kisses of the holy bird knock at your petal door. + +_Song of Siam._ + + + + +_SYRIA_ + + + +HANDING OVER THE GUN + +Kill me if you will not love me. + Here are flints; +Ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard, + On the black powder. + +Only you must not shoot me through the head, + Nor touch my heart; +Because my head is full of the ways of you + And my heart is dead. + +_Song of Syria._ + + + + +_TATARS_ + + + +HONEY + +Young man, +If you try to eat honey +On the blade of a knife, +You will cut yourself. + +If you try to taste honey +On the kiss of a woman, +Taste with the lips only, +If not, young man, +You will bite your own heart. + +_Song of the Tatars._ + + + + +_THIBET_ + + + +THE LOVE OF THE ARCHER PRINCE + +The Khan. + +The son of the Khan. + +The love of the son of the Khan. + +The veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of + the Khan. + +The buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The Archer Prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that + scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love + of the son of the Khan. + +And the girl married the Archer Prince whose love kissed the + buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +_Street Song of Thibet._ + + + + +_TURKESTAN_ + + + +DISTICH + +Your face upon a drop of purple wine +Shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood. + +_From the Turkic of Hussein Baikrani._ + + + +THINGS SEEN IN A BATTLE + +Clear diamond heart, +I have been hunting death +Among the swords. + +But death abhors my shadow, +And I come back +Wounded with memories. + +Your eyes, +For steel is amorous of steel +And there are bright blue sparks. + +Your lips, +I see great bloody roses +Cut in white dead breasts. + +Your bed, +For I see wrestling bodies +Under the evening star. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + +HUNTER'S SONG + +Not a stone from my black sling +Ever misses anything, +But the arrows of your eye +Surer shoot and faster fly. + +Not one creature that I hit +Lingers on to know of it, +But the game that falls to love +Lives and lingers long enough. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + + +_TURKEY_ + + + +THE BATH + +My dreams are bubbles of cool light, +Sunbeams mingled in the light green +Waters of your bath. + +Through fretted spaces in the olive wood +My love adventures with the white sun. + +I dive into the ice-coloured shadows +Where the water is like light blue flowers +Dancing on mirrors of silver. + +The sun rolls under the waters of your bath +Like the body of a strong swimmer. + +And now you cool your feet, +Which have the look of apple flowers, +Under the water on the oval marble +Coloured like yellow roses. + +Your scarlet nipples +Waver under the green kisses of the water, +Flowers drowned in a mountain stream. + +_From the Modern Turkish._ + + + +DISTICH + +Lions tremble at my claws; +And I at a gazelle with eyes. + +_From the Turkish of Sultan Selim I._ + + + +A PROVERB + +Before you love, +Learn to run through snow +Leaving no footprint. + +_From the Turkish._ + + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + +Here are the doleful rains, +And one would say the sky is weeping +The death of the tolerable weather. + +Tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds +And we sit down indoors. + +Now is the time for poetry coloured with summer. +Let it fall on the white paper +As ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree. + +I will dip down my lips into my cup +Each time I wet my brush. + +And keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders, +For time escapes away from you and me +Quicker than birds. + +_From the Chinese of Tu Fu (712-770)._ + + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + +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. + +AFGHANISTAN + +SIKANDER, Alexander the Great. + +SHALIBAGH, the notable garden of Shalimar in Lahore, planted by Shah +Jahan in 1637. + +ABDEL QADIR GILANI, Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, founder of the Qadirite +order of the Dervishes, twelfth century. + +ANNAM + +K'IEN NIUe and CHIK NUe: 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 _A Lute of Jade_ which deals delightfully with Po-Chue-i; +and to Lafcadio Hearn's _Romance of the Milky Way._ + +ARABIC + +ANTAR, the hero Antar Ebn Cheddad Ebn Amr Corad, who lived in the late +sixth and early seventh centuries, owes his European reputation to +_Siret Antar_, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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.'" + +My most cordial thanks are due to The Bookworm, of the _Weekly +Dispatch_, for permission to make this long quotation from an article +headed, "The Strange Story of John Duncan, the Arab-Scot," which +appeared over his _nom de plume_ in the issue of that newspaper for +March 30, 1919. + +CHINA + +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 _Coloured Stars_. Mr. Wing is an +American-born Chinese and practises the profession of a valet. + +JAPAN + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH: this poem is a _zi-sei_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +KAZACKS + +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. + +LAOS + +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. + +PERSIA + +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: + + I often wonder what the vintners buy + One-half so precious as the goods they sell. + +THIBET + +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." + + + + + + + + + + +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.txt or 9920.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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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Garden of Bright Waters + One Hundred and Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + +Author: Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9920] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 31, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, +Tom Allen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +The Garden Of Bright Waters + +One Hundred And Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + + +Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +1920 + + + + +Dedication: To My Wife + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +Head in hand, I look at the paper leaf; +It is still white. + +I look at the ink +Dry on the end of my brush. + +My soul sleeps. +Will it ever wake? + +I walk a little in the pouring of the sun +And pass my hands over the higher flowers. + +There is the soft green forest, +There are the sweet lines of the mountains +Carved with snow, red in the sunlight. + +I see the slow march of the clouds, +I hear the crows jeering, and I come back + +To sit and look at the paper leaf, +Which is still white +Under my brush. + +_From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850)._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + + +AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO) + +The Princess of Qulzum +Come, my Beloved! +Ballade of Muhammad Khan +Ghazal of Tavakkul +Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal +Ghazal of Sayyid Ahmad +Ghazal of Pir Muhammad +Ballade of Nurshali +Ghazal of Muhammad Din Tilai +Micra +Ballade of Muhammad Din Tilai +Ghazal of Mira +Ghazal of Majid Shah +Ghazal of Mira +Ballade of Ajam the Washerman +Ghazal of Isa Akhun Zada + + +ANNAM + +The Bamboo Garden +Stranger Things have Happened +Nocturne +The Gao Flower +The Girl of Ke-Mo +The Little Woman of Clear River +Waiting to Marry a Student +A Song for Two + + +ARABIC + +Sand +Two Similes +Melodian +The Lost Lady +Love Brown and Bitter +Okhouan +Lying Down Alone +Old Greek Lovers +Night and Morning +In a Yellow Frame +Because the Good are Never Fair +White and Green and Black Tears +A Conceit +Values +What Love Is +The Dancing Heart +The Great Offence +An Escape +Three Queens +Her Nails +Perturbation at Dawn +The Resurrection of the Tattooed Girl +Moallaka of Antar +Moallaka of Amr Ebn Kultum + + +BALUCHISTAN + +Comparisons + + +BURMA + +A Canker in the Heart + + +CAMBODIA + +Disquiet + + +CAUCASUS + +Vengeance +The Flight + + +CHINA + +We were Two Green Rushes +Song Writer Paid with Air +The Bad Road +The Western Window +In Lukewarm Weather +Written on White Frost +A Flute of Marvel +The Willow-Leaf +A Poet Looks at the Moon +We Two in a Park at Night +The Jade Staircase +The Morning Shower +A Virtuous Wife +Written on a Wall in Spring +A Poet Thinks +In the Cold Night + + +DAGHESTAN + +Winter Comes + + +GEORGIA + +Part of a Ghazal + + +HINDUSTAN + +Fard +Incurable +A Poem +Fard +Mortification +Fard + + +JAPAN + +Grief and the Sleeve +Drink Song +A Boat Comes In +The Opinion of Men +Old Scent of the Plum-tree +An Orange Sleeve +Invitation +The Clocks of Death +Green Food for a Queen +The Cushion +A Single Night +At a Dance of Girls +Alone One Night + + +KAFIRISTAN + +Walking up a Hill at Dawn +Proposal of Marriage + + +KAZACKS + +You do not Want Me, Zohrah + + +KOREA + +Tears +The Dream +Separation + + +KURDISTAN + +Paradise + + +LAOS + +Misadventure +Khap-Salung +The Holy Swan + + +MANCHURIA + +Fire and Love +Hearts of Women + + + +PERSIA + +To His Love instead of a Promised Picture Book +Too Short a Night +The Roses +I Asked my Love +A Request +See You Have Dancers + + +SIAM + +The Sighing Heart + + +SYRIA + +Handing over the Gun + + +TATARS + +Honey + + +THIBET + +The Love of the Archer Prince + + +TURKESTAN + +Distich +Things Seen in Battle +Hunter's Song + + +TURKEY + +The Bath +Distich +A Proverb + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + + + + +_AFGHANISTAN_ + + + +THE PRINCESS OF QULZUM +(BALLADE BY NUR UDDIN) + +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight; +I have seen the daughter of the King of Qulzum passing from grace to + grace. +Yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house +And laughed with a thousand graces. +She has a little pearl and coral cap +And rides in a palanquin with servants about her +And claps her hands, being too proud to call. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"My palanquin is truly green and blue; +I fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure; +I make men run up and down before me, +And am not as young a girl as you pretend. +I am of Iran, of a powerful house, I am pure steel. +I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore, +You walk with a joyous step, +Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy. +A pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens, +I would not that your mother should give my pear-tree +To twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead +Throw rays and light the hearts of far men; +The ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond. +I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine +And my words are chosen. +But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I trust them to you." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things; +And two great saints are my perpetual guards. +There is never a song of _Nur Uddin_ but has in it a great achievement +And is as brilliant as a young hyacinth; +I pour a ray of honey on my disciples, +There is as it were a fire in my ballades. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +COME, MY BELOVED! + +Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved! +The doves are moaning and calling and will not cease. + Come, my beloved! + +"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love. +Sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth." + Come, my beloved! + +The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair, +The balance of your neck is like a jacinth; +You have set a star of green between your brows. + Come, my beloved! + +Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills +Are the soft colours of the airy veil +To your rose knee from your curved almond waist. + Come, my beloved! + +Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags, +Stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings. + Come, my beloved! + +_Muhammad Din_ is wandering; he is drunken and mad; +For a year he has been dying. Send for the doctor! + Come, my beloved! + +_From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth +century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN + +She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower; +Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the + garden. + +Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to + break. +Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well; +She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her. + +She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose; +She breaks not, she is strong. +She has a throne, but comes into the woods for love. + +I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword. +The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as Badri. +She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue + scarf. +Give your garland to _Muhammad Khan_, my idol; +My idol has come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL + +To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city +From which my heart might leap to heaven. + +Her breasts are a garden of white roses +Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves. + +Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing +And doves are moaning with arrows because of her. + +All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh; +She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there. + +Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair.... +You have killed _Tavakkul_, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL + +I am burning, I am crumbled into powder, +I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears. + +Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish; +I return no more, I am counted among the dead. + +I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames; +You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day. + +People have come to see me from far towns, +Great and small, arriving with bare heads, +For I have become one of the great historical lovers. + +In the desire of your red lips +My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses. +It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose +That my heart is taken. + +"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, _Sayyid Kamal_. +I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless." + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD + +My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly; +Day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly. + +Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly; +Setting quickly and heavily and very quietly. + +If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open; +To-morrow is a day when no man buys, +And the caravan is broken up very quietly. + +The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake +_Sayyid Ahmad_ is walking and mourning very quietly. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD + +The season of parting has come up with the wind; +My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation. + +Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless. +None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation. + +There is no one near me noble enough to be told; +I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation. + +She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me. +Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of + separation. + +I am _Pir Muhammad_ and I am stumbling away to die; +She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF NURSHALI + +Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path +When your girl friends go laughing by the road. +"Come in haste this dusk; I have become your nightingale, +And the young girls leave me alone because of you. +I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you; +Take my wrist, for there is no shame +And my father has gone out. +Sit near me on this red bed quietly." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips; +Your hand is strong upon my breast; +My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers." +But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair. +This is _Nurshali_ sighing for the garden; + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +The world is fainting +And falling into a swoon. + +The world is turning and changing; +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain +And pierced a brass hill for the love of Shirin. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love +And death became the hostess of his lady. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated. +You know the story; +There is no lasting love. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_Muhammad Din_ is ill for the matter of a little honey; +This is a moment to be generous. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +MICRA + +When you lie with me and love me, +You give me a second life of young gold; +And when you lie with me and love me not, +I am as one who puts out hands in the dark +And touches cold wet death. + +_From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. +On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses, +They speak about your beauty in Lahore. +You have your mother's lips; +Your ring is frosted with rubies, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies; +I was unhappy and you looked over the wall, +I saw your face among the crimson lilies; +There is no armour that a lover can buy, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers +And they go away. +I have fatigued the wise of many lands, +And my hair is a tangle of serpents. +What is the profit of these shawls without you? +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +"A squadron of my father's men are about me, +And I have woven a collar of yellow flowers. +My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of bhang, +Being a daughter of the daughter of queens. +You cannot touch me because of my palaces, +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song; +For I am a disciple of Abdel Qadir Gilani, +And my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies.... +_Muhammad Din_ awaits the parting of your scarves; +_Tilai_ is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. +I came to ask for alms and have lost my all, +I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me, +And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +The lamp burns and I must play the green moth. +I have stolen her scented rope of flowers, +But the women caught me and built a little gaol +About my heart with your old playthings. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_Mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die +Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief; +It is the hour; make haste. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH + +Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me; +The black dust has covered my pretty one. + +My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend; +How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here. + +I can only dream of the stature of my friend; +The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden. + +Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers; +I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey. + +I am _Majid Shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead; +Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men +Is buried alive under the vault of Time. + +Autumn comes pillaging gardens; +The bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling. + +Wars start up wherever your eye glances, +And the young men moan marching on to the batteries. + +_Mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road; +He has taken his death-wound in battle. + + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN + +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me. +Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow; +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart; +Come to me. + +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart +Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings; +Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart, +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me. + +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more + beautiful +Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings. +The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope; +But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves. + +Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves, +And give yourself once to _Ajam_. Slip away weeping, +Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me. +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA + +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing, +Lend your small ears to my quick sighing. +Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death; +And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes. +Life is a tale ill constructed without love. +Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +I am at your door wasted and white and dying. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam +Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom. +All the world has spied on us and seen our love, +And in four days or five days will be whispering evil. +Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. +After that we will both of us go to prison. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +My quick sighings carry a tender promise; +I will have time to remember in the battle, +Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me. +The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword, +Though I have foes more than the stars +Of a thousand valley starlights. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +I am as strong as Sikander, I am as strong as death; +You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me, +And laughing bloody battalions following after. +_Isa Gal_ is stronger than God; +Do not whip me, do not whip me, +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + + +_ANNAM_ + + + +THE BAMBOO GARDEN + +Old bamboos are about my house, +And the floor of my house is untidy with old books. +It is sweet to rest in the shade of it +And read the poems of the masters. + +But I remember a delightful fisherman +Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening. +In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float +Over the lakes and rivers, +Watching his nets and singing. + +A sweet boy promised to marry me, +But he went away and left +Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift +In the middle of a river. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED + +Do not believe that ink is always black, + Or lime white, or lemon sour; +You cannot ring one bell from two pagodas, +You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son. + I found you binding an orange spray + Of flowers with white flowers; + I never noticed the flower gathering + Of other village ladies. +Would you like me to go and see your father and mother? + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +NOCTURNE + +It is late at night +And the North Star is shining. +The mist covers the rice-fields +And the bamboos +Are whispering full of crickets. +The watch beats on the iron-wood gong, +And priests are ringing the pagoda bells. +We hear the far-away games of peasants +And distant singing in the cottages. + +It is late at night. +As we talk gently, +Sitting by one another, +Life is as beautiful as night. +The red moon is rising +On the mountain side +Like a fire started among the trees. +There is the North Star +Shining like a paper lantern. +The light air brings dew to our faces +And the sound of tamtams beaten far away. +Let us sit like this all night. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GAO FLOWER + +I am the Gao flower high in a tree, +You are the grass Long Mai on the path-side. +When heat comes down after the dews of morning +The flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass, +The grass Long Mai that keeps the fallen Gao. + +Folk who let their daughters grow +Without achieving a husband +Might easily forget to fence their garden, +Or let their radishes grow flower and rank +When they could eat them ripe and tender. + +Come to me, you that I see walk +Every night in a red turban; +Young man with the white turban, come to me. +We will plant marrows together in a garden, +And there may be little marrows for your children. + +I will dye your turban blue and red and yellow, +You with the white turban. +You that are passing with a load of water, +I call you +And you do not even turn your head. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GIRL OF KE-MO + +I'm a girl of Ke-Mo village +Selling my rice wine on the road. +Mine is the strongest rice wine in the land, +Though my bottle is so patched and dirty. +These silly rags are not my body, +The parts you cannot see are counted pleasant; +But you are just too drunk to drink my wine, +And just too plain to lie down on my mat. +He who would drink the wine of the girl of Ke-Mo +Needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE LITTLE WOMAN OF CLEAR RIVER + +Clear River twists nine times about +Clear River; but so deep +That none can see the green sand. +You hear the birds about Clear River: +Dik, dik, dik, dik, Diu dik. + +A little woman with jade eyes +Leans on the wall of a pavilion. +She has the moonrise in her heart +And the singing of love songs +Comes to her up the river. + +She stands and dreams for me +Outside the house by the bamboo door. +In a minute +I will leave my shadow +And talk to her of poetry and love. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +WAITING TO MARRY A STUDENT + +I still walk slowly on the river bank +Where I came singing, +And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +Setting red in the river. +I want Autumn, +I want the leaves to begin falling at once, +So that the cold time may bring us close again +Like K'ien Niue and Chik Nue, the two stars. + +Each year when Autumn comes +The crows make a black bridge across the milky sea, +And then these two poor stars +Can run together in gold and be at peace. +Darling, for my sake work hard +And be received with honour at the Examinations. + +Since I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +I have forgotten how to sing +And how to paddle the canoe across the lake. +I know how to sit down and how to be sad, +And I know how to say nothing; +But every other art has slipped away. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +A SONG FOR TWO + +I have lacquered my teeth to find a husband. + +And I have need of a wife. +Give me a kiss and they will marry us +At Mo-Lao, my village. + +I will marry you if you will wait for me, +Wait till the banana puts forth branches, +And fruit hangs heavy on the Sung-tree, +And the onion flowers; +Wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs, +And the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + + +_ARABIC_ + + + +SAND + +The sand is like acres of wet milk +Poured out under the moonlight; +It crawls up about your brown feet +Like wine trodden from white stars. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +TWO SIMILES + +You have taken away my cloak, +My cloak of weariness; +Take my coat also, +My many-coloured coat of life.... + +On this great nursery floor +I had three toys, +A bright and varnished vow, +A Speckled Monster, best of boys, +True friend to me, and more +Beloved and a thing of cost, +My doll painted like life; and now +One is broken and two are lost. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +MELODIAN + +I have been at this shooting-gallery too long. +It is monotonous how the little coloured balls +Make up and down on their silvery water thread; +It would be pleasant to have money and go instead +To watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls +Of the World-famous Caravan of Dance and Song. + +And I want to go out beyond the turf fires there, +After I've looked at your just smiling face, +To that untented silent dark blue nighted place; +And wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb +And drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ... +You have the most understanding face in all the fair. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +THE LOST LADY + +You are the drowned, +Star that I found +Washed on the rim of the sea +Before the morning. +You are the little dying light +That stopped me in the night. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +LOVE BROWN AND BITTER + +You know so well how to stay me with vapours +Distilled expertly to that unworthy end; +You know the poses of your body I love best +And that I am cheerful with your head on my breast, +You know you please me by disliking one friend; +You read up what amuses me in the papers. + +Who knows me knows I am not of those fools +That gets tired of a woman who is kind to them, +Yet you know not how stifled you render me +By learning me so well, how I long to see +An unpractised girl under your clever phlegm, +A soul not so letter-perfect in the rules. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OKHOUAN + +A mole shows black +Between her mouth and cheek. + +As if a negro, +Coming into a garden, +Wavered between a purple rose +And a scarlet camomile. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +LYING DOWN ALONE + +I shall never see your tired sleep +In the bed that you make beautiful, +Nor hardly ever be a dream +That plays by your dark hair; +Yet I think I know your turning sigh +And your trusting arm's abandonment, +For they are the picture of my night, +My night that does not end. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OLD GREEK LOVERS + +They put wild olive and acanthus up +With tufts of yellow wool above the door +When a man died in Greece and in Greek Islands, + Grey stone by the blue sea, +Or sage-green trees down to the water's edge. + How many clanging years ago + I, also withering into death, sat with him, + Old man of so white hair who only, + Only looked past me into the red fire. +At last his words were all a jumble of plum-trees +And white boys smelling of the sea's green wine +And practice of his lyre. Suddenly + The bleak resurgent mind +Called wonderfully clear: "What mark have I left?" + Crying girls with wine and linen +Washed the straight old body and wrapped up, + And set the doorward feet. +Later for me also under Greek sun +The pendant leaves in green and bitter flakes +Blew out to join the wastage of the world, +And wool, I take it, in the nests of birds. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +NIGHT AND MORNING + +The great brightness of the burning of the stars, +Little frightened love, +Is like your eyes, +When in the heavy dusk +You question the dark blue shadows, +Fearing an evil. + +Below the night +The one clear line of dawn; +As it were your head +Where there is one golden hair +Though your hair is very brown. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Moattaz) (ninth century)._ + + + +IN A YELLOW FRAME + +Her hand tinted to gold with henna +Gave me a cup of wine like gold water, +And I said: The moon rise, the sun rise. + +_From the Arabic of Hefny-bey-Nassif (contemporary)._ + + + +BECAUSE THE GOOD ARE NEVER FAIR + +When she appears the daylight envies her garment, +The wanton daylight envies her garment +To show it to the jealous sun. + +And when she walks, +All women tall and tiny +Want her figure and start crying. + +Because of your mouth, +Long life to the Agata valley, +Long life to pearls. + +Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks, +But I am undecided, +For there is a hint of the tops of flames +In their purple shining. + +_From the Arabic of Ahmed Bey Chawky (contemporary)._ + + + +WHITE AND GREEN AND BLACK TEARS + +Why are your tears so white? +Dear, I have wept so long +That my old tears grow white like my old hair. + +Why are your tears so green? +Dear, the waters are wept away +And the green gall is flowing. + +Why are your tears so black? +Dear, the weeping is over +And the black flash you loved is breaking. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Farid) (thirteenth century)._ + + + +A CONCEIT + +I hide my love, +I will not say her name. +And yet since I confess +I love, her name is told. +You know that if I love +It must be ... Whom? + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Kalakis Abu El Fath Nasrallah (eleventh century)._ + + + +VALUES + +Since there is excitement +In suffering for a woman, +Let him burn on. +The dust in a wolf's eyes +Is balm of flowers to the wolf +When a flock of sheep has raised it. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +WHAT LOVE IS + +Love starts with a little throb in the heart, +And in the end one dies +Like an ill-treated toy. +Love is born in a look or in four words, +The little spark that burnt the whole house. +Love is at first a look, +And then a smile, +And then a word, +And then a promise, +And then a meeting of two among flowers. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +THE DANCING HEART + +When she came she said: +You know that your love is granted, +Why is your heart trembling? + +And I: +You are bringing joy for my heart +And so my heart is dancing. + +_From the Arabic of Urak El Hutail._ + + + +THE GREAT OFFENCE + +She seemed so bored, +I wanted to embrace her by surprise; +But then the scalding waters +Fell from her eyes and burnt her roses. + +I offered her a cup.... + +And came to paradise.... + +Ah, sorrow, +When she rose from the waves of wine +I thought she would have killed me +With the swords of her desolation.... + +Especially as I had tied her girdle +With the wrong bow. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +AN ESCAPE + +She was beautiful that evening and so gay.... + +In little games +My hand had slipped her mantle, +I am not sure +About her skirts. + +Then in the night's curtain of shadows, +Heavy and discreet, +I asked and she replied: +To-morrow. + +Next day I came +Saying, Remember. + +Words of a night, she said, to bring the day. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +THREE QUEENS + +Three sweet drivers hold the reins, +And hold the places of my heart. +A great people obeys me, +But these three obey me not. +Am I then a lesser king than love? + +_From the Arabic of Haroun El Raschid (eighth century)._ + + + +HER NAILS + +She is as wise as Hippocrates, +As beautiful as Joseph, +As sweet-voiced as David, +As pure as Mary. + +I am as sad as Jacob, +As lonely as Jonah, +As patient as Job, +As unfortunate as Adam. + +When I met her again +And saw her nails +Prettily purpled, +I reproached her for making up +When I was not there. + +She told me gently +That she was no coquette, +But had wept tears of blood +Because I was not there, +And maybe she had dried her eyes +With her little hands. + +I would like to have wept before she wept; +But she wept first +And has the better love. +Her eyes are long eyes, +And her brows are the bows of subtle strong men. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +PERTURBATION AT DAWN + +Day comes.... + +And when she sees the withering of the violet garden +And the saffron garden flowering, +The stars escaping on their black horse +And dawn on her white horse arriving, +She is afraid. + +Against the sighing of her frightened breasts +She puts her hand; +I see what I have never seen, +Five perfect lines on a crystal leaf +Written with coral pens. + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Maatuk (seventeenth century)._ + + + +THE RESURRECTION OF THE TATTOOED GIRL + +Her hands are filled with what I lack, +And on her arms are pictures, +Looking like files of ants forsaking the battalions, +Or hail inlaid by broken clouds on green lawns. + +She fears the arrows of her proper eyes +And has her hands in armour. + +She has stretched her hands in a cup to me, +Begging for my heart. +She has circled me with the black magic of her brows +And shot small arrows at me. + +The black curl that lies upon her temple +Is a scorpion pointing his needle at the stars. + +Her eyes seem tight, tight shut; +But I believe she is awake. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +The poets have muddied all the little fountains. + +Yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house? + +O dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa, +Speak to me, for my camel and I salute you. + +My camel is as tall as a tower, and I make him stand +And give my aching heart to the wind of the desert. + +O erstwhile dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa; +And my tribe in the valleys of Hazn and Samna +And in the valley of Motethalem! + +Salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins +Since Oum El Aythan gathered and went away. + +Now is the dwelling of Abla +In a valley of men who roar like lions. +It will be hard to come to you, O daughter of Makhram. + + * * * * * + +Abla is a green rush +That feeds beside the water. + +But they have taken her to Oneiza +And my tribe feeds in lazy Ghailam valley. + +They fixed the going, and the camels +Waked in the night and evilly prepared. + +I was afraid when I saw the camels +Standing ready among the tents +And eating grain to make them swift. + +I counted forty-two milk camels, +Black as the wings of a black crow. + +White and purple are the lilies of the valley, +But Abla is a branch of flowers. + +Who will guide me to the dwelling of Abla? + +_From the Arabic of Antar (late sixth and early seventh centuries)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +Rise and hold up the curved glass, +And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar. + +Pour wine for us, whose golden colour +Is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron. + +Pour us wine to make us generous +And carelessly happy in the old way. + +Pour us wine that gives the miser +A sumptuous generosity and disregard. + +O Oum-Amr, you have prevented me from the cup +When it should have been moving to the right; +And yet the one of us three that you would not serve +Is not the least worthy. + +How many cups have I not emptied at Balbek, +And emptied at Damas and emptied at Cacerin! + +More cups! more cups! for death will have his day; +His are we and he ours. + + * * * * * + +By herself she is fearless +And gives her arms to the air, +The limbs of a long camel that has not borne. + +She gives the air her breasts, +Unfingered ivory. + +She gives the air her long self and her curved self, +And hips so round and heavy that they are tired. + +All these noble abundances of girlhood +Make the doors divinely narrow and myself insane. + +Columns of marble and ivory in the old way, +And anklets chinking in gold and musical bracelets. + +Without her I am a she-camel that has lost, +And howls in the sand at night. + +Without her I am as sad as an old mother +Hearing of the death of her many sons. + +_From the Arabic of Amr Ebn Kultum (seventh century)._ + + + + +_BALUCHISTAN_ + + + +COMPARISONS + +Touch my hands with your fingers, yellow wallflower. +Did God use a bluer paint +Painting the sky for the gold sun +Or making the sea about your two black stars? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spread his bluest paint +On a hollow sky or a girl's eye, +But on a topaz chain, from you to me. + +Touch my temples with your fingers, scarlet rose. +Did God use a stronger light +When He fashioned and dropped the sun into the sky +Or dropped your black stars into their blue sea? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spend His strongest light +On a sun above or a look of love, +But on a round gold ring, from you to me. + +Touch my cheeks with your fingers, blue hyacinth. +Did God use a whiter silk +Weaving the veil for your fevered roses, +Or spinning the moon that lies across your face? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not waste His whitest web +On veils of silk or moons of milk, +But on a marriage cap, from you to me. + +_Popular Song of Baluchistan._ + + + + +_BURMA_ + + + +A CANKER IN THE HEART + +I made a bitter song +When I was a boy, +About a girl +With hot earth-coloured hair, +Who lived with me +And left me. + +I made a sour song +On her marriage-day, +That ever his kisses +Would be ghosts of mine, +And ever the measure +Of his halting love +Flow to my music. + +It was a silly song, +Dear wife with cool black hair, +And yet when I recall +(At night with you asleep) +That once you gave yourself +Before we met, +I do not quite well know +What song to make. + +_From the Burmese (nineteenth century) (? by Asmapur)._ + + + + +_CAMBODIA_ + + + +DISQUIET + +Brother, my thought of you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Goes up about you +As her own scent +Goes up about the rose. + +The bracelets on my arms +Have grown too large +Because you went away. + +I think the sun of love +Melted the snow of parting, +For the white river of tears has overflowed. + +But though I am sad +I am still beautiful, +The girl that you desired +In April. + +Brother, my love for you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Brightens about you +As her own rays +Brighten about the moon. + +_Love Poem of Cambodia._ + + + + +_CAUCASUS_ + + + +VENGEANCE + +Aischa was mine, +My tender cousin, +My blond lover; +And you knew our love, +Uncle without bowels, +Foul old man. + +For a few weights of gold +You sold her to the blacks, +And they will drive a stinking trade +At the dark market; +Your slender daughter, +The free child of our hills. + +She will go to serve the bed +Of a fat man with no God, +A guts that cannot walk, +A belly hiding his own feet, +A rolling paunch +Between itself and love. + +She was slim and quick +Like the antelope of our hills +When he comes down in the summer-time +To bathe in the pools of Tereck, +Her stainless flesh +Was all moonlight. + +Her long silk hair +Was of so fine a gold +And of so honey-like a brown +That bees flew there, +And her red lips +Were flowers in sunlight. + +She was fair, alas, she was fair, +So that her beauty goes +To a garden of dying flowers, +Made one with the girls that mourn +And wither for light and love +Behind the harem bars. + +And you have dirty dreams +That she will be Sultane, +And you will drink and boast +And roll about, +The grinning ancestor +Of little kings. + +Hugging your very wicked gold +Within a greasy belt, +You paddle exulting like a bald ape +That glories to defile, +Unmindful of two hot young streams +Of tears. + +You stole this dirty gold, +For this gold means +Your daughter's freedom +And your nephew's love, +Two fresh and lovely things +Groaning within your belt. + +The sunny playing of our childhood +At the green foot of Elbours, +The starry playing of our youth +Beyond the flowery fences, +These sigh their lost delights +Within your belt. + +Give me the gold; +Damn you, give me the gold.... +You kill my mercy +When you kill my love.... +Hold up your trembling sword; +For this is death. + + * * * * * + +I take the belt from the dead loins +That put away my love, +And turn my sweet white horse +After the caravan.... +With dirty gold and clean steel +I'll set Aischa free. + +_Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + +THE FLIGHT + +Softly into the saddle +Of my black horse with white feet; +Your brothers are frowning +And grasping swords in sleep. +My rifle is as clean as moonlight, +My flints are new; +My long grey sword is sighing +In his blue sheath. +Fatima gave me my grey sword +Of Temrouk steel, +Damascened in red gold +To cut a pathway for the feet of love. + +My eye is dark and keen, +My hand has never trembled on the sword. +If your brothers rise and follow +On their stormy horses, +If they stretch their hot hands +To catch you from my breast, +My rifle shall not sing to them, +My steel shall spare. +My rifle's song is for my yellow girl, +My eye is dark and keen, +I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart +That ever lady loved with in the world. + +My hand upon the sword +Shall be so strong, +He'll find the little laughing place +Where you dance in my breast; +And we'll have no more of the silly world +Where our lips must lie apart. +We'll let death pour our souls +Into one cup, +And mount like joyous birds to God +With hearts on fire, +And God will mingle us into one shape +In an eternal garden of gold stars. + +_Love Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + + +_CHINA_ + + + +WE WERE TWO GREEN RUSHES + +We were two green rushes by opposing banks, + And the small stream ran between. +Not till the water beat us down + Could we be brought together, +Not till the winter came +Could we be mingled in a frosty sleep, + Locked down and close. + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +SONG WRITER PAID WITH AIR + +I sit on a white wood box +Smeared with the black name +Of a seller of white sugar. +The little brown table is so dirty +That if I had food +I do not think I could eat. + +How can I promise violets drunken in wine +For your amusement, +How can I powder your blue cotton dress +With splinters of emerald, +How can I sing you songs of the amber pear, +Or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers +Mingled scents in a rose agate bowl? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE BAD ROAD + +I have seen a pathway shaded by green great trees, +A road bordered by thickets light with flowers. + +My eyes have entered in under the green shadow, +And made a cool journey far along the road. + +But I shall not take the road, +Because it does not lead to her house. + +When she was born +They shut her little feet in iron boxes, +So that my beloved never walks the roads. + +When she was born +They shut her heart in a box of iron, +So that my beloved shall never love me. + +_From the Chinese._ + + + +THE WESTERN WINDOW + +At the head of a thousand roaring warriors, +With the sound of gongs, +My husband has departed +Following glory. + +At first I was overjoyed +To have a young girl's liberty. + +Now I look at the yellowing willow-leaves; +They were green the day he left. + +I wonder if he also was glad? + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +IN LUKEWARM WEATHER + +The women who were girls a long time ago +Are sitting between the flower bushes +And speaking softly together: + +"They pretend that we are old and have white hair; +They say also that our faces +Are not like the spring moons. + +"Perhaps it is a lie; +We cannot see ourselves. + +"Who will tell us for certain +That winter is not at the other side of the mirror, +Obscuring our delights +And covering our hair with frost?" + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON WHITE FROST + +The white frost covers all the arbute-trees, +Like powder on the faces of women. + +Looking from window consider +That a man without women is like a flower +Naked without its leaves. + +To drive away my bitterness + +I write this thought with my narrowed breath +On the white frost. + +_From the Chinese of Wang Chi (sixth and seventh centuries)._ + + + +A FLUTE OF MARVEL + +Under the leaves and cool flowers +The wind brought me the sound of a flute +From far away. + +I cut a branch of willow +And answered with a lazy song. + +Even at night, when all slept, +The birds were listening to a conversation +In their own language. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-763)._ + + + +THE WILLOW-LEAF + +I am in love with a child dreaming at the window. + +Not for her elaborate house +On the banks of Yellow River; + +But for a willow-leaf she has let fall + Into the water. + +I am in love with the east breeze. + +Not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches + White on Eastern Hill; + +But that he has drifted the willow-leaf + Against my boat. + +I am in love with the willow-leaf. + +Not that he speaks of green spring + Coming to us again; + +But that the dreaming girl +Pricked there a name with her embroidery needle, + And the name is mine. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chiu Ling (675-740)._ + + + +A POET LOOKS AT THE MOON + +I hear a woman singing in my garden, +But I look at the moon in spite of her. + +I have no thought of trying to find the singer +Singing in my garden; +I am looking at the moon. + +And I think the moon is honouring me +With a long silver look. + +I blink +As bats fly black across the ray; +But when I raise my head the silver look +Is still upon me. + +The moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror, +And poets are many as dragon scales +On the moonlit sea. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Jo Hsu._ + + + +WE TWO IN A PARK AT NIGHT + +We have walked over the high grass under the wet trees +To the gravel path beside the lake, we two. +A noise of light-stepping shadows follows now +From the dark green mist in which we waded. + +Six geese drop one by one into the shivering lake; +They say "Peeng" and then after a long time, "Peeng," +Swimming out softly to the moon. + +Three of the balancing dancing geese are dim and black, +And three are white and clear because of the moon; +In what explanatory dawn will our souls +Be seen to be the same? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE JADE STAIRCASE + +The jade staircase is bright with dew. + +Slowly, this long night, the queen climbs, +Letting her gauze stockings and her elaborate robe +Drag in the shining water. + +Dazed with the light, +She lowers the crystal blind +Before the door of the pavilion. + +It leaps down like a waterfall in sunlight. + +While the tiny clashing dies down, +Sad and long dreaming, +She watches between the fragments of jade light +The shining of the autumn moon. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-762)._ + + + +THE MORNING SHOWER + +The young lady shows like a thing of light +In the shadowy deeps of a fair window +Grown round with flowers. + +She is naked and leans forward, and her flesh like frost +Gathers the light beyond the stone brim. + +Only the hair made ready for the day +Suggests the charm of modern clothing. + +Her blond eyebrows are the shape of very young moons. + +The shower's bright water overflows +In a pure rain. + +She lifts one arm into an urgent line, +Cooling her rose fingers +On the grey metal of the spray. + +If I could choose my service, I would be the shower +Dashing over her in the sunlight. + +_From the Chinese of J.S. Ling (1901)._ + + + +A VIRTUOUS WIFE + +One moment I place your two bright pearls against my robe, +And the red silk mirrors a rose in each. + +Why did I not meet you before I married? + +See, there are two tears quivering at my lids; +I am giving back your pearls. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chi (770-850)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON A WALL IN SPRING + +It rained last night, +But fair weather has come back +This morning. + +The green clusters of the palm-trees +Open and begin to throw shadows. + +But sorrow drifts slowly down about me. + +I come and go in my room, +Heart-heavy with memories. + +The neighbour green casts shadows of green +On my blind; +The moss, soaked in dew, +Takes the least print +Like delicate velvet. + +I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose +With shadowy underclothes of grenade red. + +How things still live again. + +I go and sit by the day balustrade + +And do nothing + +Except count the plains +And the mountains +And the valleys +And the rivers +That separate from my Spring. + +_From the Chinese (early nineteenth century)._ + + + +A POET THINKS + +The rain is due to fall, +The wind blows softly. + +The branches of the cinnamon are moving, +The begonias stir on the green mounds. + +Bright are the flying leaves, +The falling flowers are many. + +The wind lifted the dry dust, +And he is lifting the wet dust; +Here and there the wind moves everything + +He passes under light gauze +And touches me. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +There are leagues of sky, +And the water is flowing very fast. + +Why do the birds let their feathers +Fall among the clouds? + +I would have them carry my letters, +But the sky is long. + +The stream flows east +And not one wave comes back with news. + +The scented magnolias are shining still, +But always a few are falling. + +I close his box on my guitar of jasper +And lay aside my jade flute. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +Stay with me to-night, +Old songs. + +_From the Chinese of Liu Chi (1311-1375)._ + + + +IN THE COLD NIGHT + +Reading in my book this cold night, +I have forgotten to go to sleep. +The perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover; +The last smoke must have left the hearth +When I was not looking. +My beautiful friend snatches away the lamp. +Do you know what the time is? + +_From the Chinese of Yuan Mei (1715-1797)._ + + + + +_DAGHESTAN_ + + + +WINTER COMES + +Winter scourges his horses +Through the North, +His hair is bitter snow +On the great wind. +The trees are weeping leaves +Because the nests are dead, +Because the flowers were nests of scent +And the nests had singing petals +And the flowers and nests are dead. + +Your voice brings back the songs +Of every nest, +Your eyes bring back the sun +Out of the South, +Violets and roses peep +Where you have laughed the snow away +And kissed the snow away, +And in my heart there is a garden still +For the lost birds. + +_Song of Daghestan._ + + + + +_GEORGIA_ + + + +PART OF A GHAZAL + +Lonely rose out-splendouring legions of roses, +How could the nightingales behold you and not sing? + +_By Rustwell of Georgia (from the Tariel, twelfth century)._ + + + + +_HINDUSTAN_ + + + +FARD + +Love brings the tiny sweat into your hair +Like stars marching in the dead of night. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +INCURABLE + +I desire the door-sill of my beloved + More than a king's house; +I desire the shadow of the wall where her beauty hides + More than the Delhi palaces. +Why did you wait till spring; +Were not my hands already full of red-thorned roses? + My heart is yours, +So that I know not which heart I hear sighing: + Yaquin, Yaquin, Yaquin, foolish Yaquin. + +_From the Hindustani of Yaquin (eighteenth century)._ + + + +A POEM + +Joy fills my eyes, remembering your hair, with tears, + And these tears roll and shine; +Into my thoughts are woven a dark night with raindrops + And the rolling and shining of love songs. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +Ever your rose face or black curls are with Shaguil; +Because your curls are night and your face is day. + +_From the Hindustani of Shaguil (eighteenth century)._ + + + +MORTIFICATION + +Now that the wind has taught your veil to show your eyes and hair, +All the world is bowing down to your dear head; +Faith has crept away to die beside the tomb of prayer, +And men are kneeling to your hair, and God is dead. + +_From the Hindustani of Hatifi (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, +For all the heart's health is to be sick with love. + +_From the Hindustani of Miyan Jagnu (eighteenth century)._ + + + + +_JAPAN_ + + + +GRIEF AND THE SLEEVE + +Tears in the moonlight, +You know why, +Have marred the flowers +On my rose sleeve. +Ask why. + +_From the Japanese of Hide-Yoshi._ + + + +DRINK SONG + +The crows have wakened me +By cawing at the moon. +I pray that I shall not think of him; +I pray so intently +That he begins to fill my whole mind. +This is getting on my nerves; +I wonder if there is any of that wine left. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +A BOAT COMES IN + +Although I shall not see his face +For the low riding of the ship, +The three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak +Will be enough. +But what if I make a mistake +And call to the wrong man? +Or make no sign at all, +And it is he? + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +THE OPINION OF MEN + +My desires are like the white snows on Fuji +That grow but never melt. +I am becoming proud of my bad reputation; +And the more men say, +We cannot understand why she loves him, +The less I care. +I am sure that in a very short time +I shall give myself to him. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +OLD SCENT OF THE PLUM-TREE + +Remembering what passed +Under the scent of the plum-tree, +I asked the plum-tree for tidings +Of that other. +Alas ... the cold moon of spring.... + +_From the Japanese of Fujiwara Ietaka. (1158-1237)._ + + + +AN ORANGE SLEEVE + +In the fifth month, +When orange-trees +Fill all the world with scent, +I think of the sleeve +Of a girl who loved me. + +_From the Japanese of Nari-hira._ + + + +INVITATION + +The chief flower +Of the plum-tree of this isle +Opens to-night.... +Come, singing to the moon, +In the third watch. + +_From the Japanese of a Courtesan of Nagasaki._ + + + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH + +In a life where the clocks +Are slow or fast, +It is a pleasant thing +To die together +As we are dying. + +_From the Japanese of the Wife of Bes-syo Ko-saburo Naga-haru, (sixteenth +century)._ + + + +GREEN FOOD FOR A QUEEN + +I was gathering +Leaves of the Wakana +In springtime. +Why did the snow fall +On my dress? + +_From the Japanese of the Mikado Ko-ko Ten-no, (ninth century)._ + + + +THE CUSHION + +Your arm should only be +A spring night's dream; +If I accepted it to rest my head upon +There would be rumours +And no delight. + +_From the Japanese of the daughter of Taira-no Tsu-gu-naka._ + + + +A SINGLE NIGHT + +Was one night, +And that a night +Without much sleep, +Enough to make me love +All the life long? + +_From the Japanese of the wife of the Mikado Sui-toka In +(twelfth century)._ + + + +AT A DANCE OF GIRLS + +Let the wind's breath +Blow in the glades of the clouds +Until they close; +So that the beauty of these girls +May not escape. + +_From the Japanese of So-dzyo Hend-zyo._ + + + +ALONE ONE NIGHT + +This night, +Long like the drooping feathers +Of the pheasant, +The chain of mountains, +Shall I sleep alone? + +_From the Japanese of Kaik-no Motto-no Hitomaro +(seventh and eighth centuries)._ + + + + +_KAFIRISTAN_ + + + +WALKING UP A HILL AT DAWN + +Here is the wind in the morning; +The kind red face of God +Is looking over the hill +We are climbing. + +To-morrow we are going to marry +And work and play together, +And laugh together at things +Which would not amuse our neighbours. + +_Song of Kafiristan._ + + + +PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE + +Your eyes are black like water-melon pips, +Your lips are red like the red flesh of water-melons, +Your loins are smooth like smooth-rind water-melons. + +You are more beautiful than my favourite among mares, +Your buttocks are sleeker and firmer, +Like her your movements are on legs of light steel. + +Come and sit at my hearth, and I will celebrate your coming; +I will choose from the hundred flocks of each a hundred, +Passing at the foot of the Himalaya, + +The two most silky and most beautiful great sheep. +We will go to the temple and sacrifice one of the two +To the god Pandu, that you may have many children; + +And I will kill the other and roast it whole, +My most fair rose-tree serving as a spit. +I will ask the prettiest eaters and the prettiest drinkers; + +And while they eat and drink greatly for three days, +I will wind silver rings upon your arms and feet +And hang a chain of river gold about your neck. + +_Popular Song of Kafiristan._ + + + + +_KAZACKS_ + + + +YOU DO NOT WANT ME? + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet Tamour-leng was maimed, +Going on crippled feet, +And he conquered the vast of the world. + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet I have one arm to fight for you, +One arm to crush you to my rough breast, +One arm to break men for you. + +It was to shield you from the Khargis +That I drag this stump in the long days. +It has been so with my women; +They would have made you a toy for heat. + +After their chief with his axe once swinging +Cut my left arm, that, severed, bloody, and dead, +Yet struggled on the ground trying to guard you, +I have had pain for long in my arm that's lost. + +Since the silk nets of your grape-lustrous eyes +Ensnared this heart that did not try to guard, +Ever I have a great pain in my heart that's lost. +You do not want me, Zohrah. + +_Kazack poem of the Chief Gahuan-Beyg (1850-1885)._ + + + + +_KOREA_ + + + +TEARS + +How can a heart play any more with life, + After it has found a woman and known tears? + +In vain I shut my windows against the moonlight; + I have estranged sleep. + +The flower of her face is growing in the shadow + Among warm and rustling leaves.... + +I see the sunlight on her house, + I see her curtains of vermilion silk.... + +Here is the almond-coloured dawn; + And there is dew on the petals of my night flower. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +THE DREAM + +I dreamed that I was touching her eyelids, and I awoke +To find her sleepy temples of rose jade + For one heart-beat.... + +Though the moonlight beats upon the sea, + There is no boat. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +SEPARATION + +As water runs in the river, so runs time; +And ever my eyes are wasted of her presence. + +The red flowers of the second moon were yesterday; +To-day the earth has spots of blood, and there are no flowers. + +The wild geese were harnessed to the autumn moon; +They have come, I heard their crying, and they are gone. + +They have passed and given me no message; +I only hear the falling, falling noise of white rain. + +_Song of Korea._ + + + + +_KURDISTAN_ + + + +PARADISE + +Paradise, my darling, know that paradise, +The Prophet-given paradise after death, +Is far and very mysterious and most high; +My habits would be upset in such a place. + +Without impiety, I should be mortally weary +If I went there alone, without my wife; +An ugly crowding of inferior females, +What should I do with the houris? + +What should I do with those tall loaded fruit-trees, +Seeing I could not give the fruit to you? +What by the freshness of those blue streams, +Seeing my face reflected there alone? + +And it might be worse if you came with me, +For all of Allah's Chosen would desire you. +And if Mahomet threw his handkerchief +And took you up and loved you for himself? + +Eyes of my eyes, how could I then defend you? +I could not be at ease and watch him love you; +And if I mutinied against the Prophet, +He, being zealous to love you in his peace, + +Would rise and send me hurrying +Back by the sword-blade thinness of the bridge +From paradise to earth, and in the middle +Flick me down sideways to the fires of hell. + +My skin would cook and be renewed for ever +Where murderers were burning and renewing; +And evil souls, my only crime being love, +Would burn me and annoy me and destroy me. + +If I were there and you in paradise, +I could not even make my prayer to Allah +That in his justice he should give me back +My paradise. + +Let us love, therefore, on the earth together; +Our love is our garden, let us take great care, +Whisper and call pet names and kiss each other +To live our paradise as long as may be. + +_Love Ballad of Kurdistan._ + + + + +_LAOS_ + + + +MISADVENTURE + +Ever at the far side of the current +The fishes hurl and swim, +For pelicans and great birds +Watch and go fishing +On the bank-side. + +No man dare go alone +In the dim great forest, +But if I were as strong +As the green tiger +I would go. + +The holy swan on the sea +Wishes to pass over with his wings, +But I think it would be hard +To go so far. + +If you are still pure, +Tell me, darling; +If you are no longer +Clear like an evening star, +You are the heart of a great tree +Eaten by insects. +Why do you lower your eyes? +Why do you not look at me? + +When the blue elephant +Finds a lotus by the water-side +He takes it up and eats it. +Lemons are not sweeter than sugar. + +If I had the moon at home +I would open my house wide +To the four winds of the horizon, +So that the clouds that surround her +Should escape and be shaken away. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +KHAP-SALUNG + +Seeing that I adore you, +Scarf of golden flowers, +Why do you stay unmarried? +As the liana at a tree's foot +That quivers to wind it round, +So do I wait for you. I pray you +Do not detest me.... + +I have come to say farewell. +Farewell, scarf; +Garden Royal +Where none may enter, +Gaudy money +I may not spend. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +THE HOLY SWAN + +Fair journey, O holy swan with gold wings; +O holy swan that I love, fair journey! +Carry this letter for me to the new land, +The place where my lover labours. +If it rains fly low beneath the trees, +If the sun is hot fly in the forest shadows; +If any ask you where you are going +Do not answer. +You who rise for so long a journey, +Avoid the roofs at the hour when the sun is red. +Carry this letter to the new land of my lover. +If he is faithful, give it to him; +If he has forgotten, read it to him only +And let the lightning burn it afterwards. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + + +_MANCHURIA_ + + + +FIRE AND LOVE + +If you do not want your heart +Burnt at a small flame +Like a spitted sheep, +Fly the love of women. +Fire burns what it touches, +But love burns from afar. + +_Folk Song of Manchuria._ + + + +HEARTS OF WOMEN + +It is hard for a man to tell +The hidden thought in his friend's heart, +And the thought in a man's own heart +Is a thing darker. + +If you have seen a woman's heart +Bare to your eyes, +Go quickly away and never tell +What you have seen there. + +_Street Song of Manchuria._ + + + + +_PERSIA_ + + + +TO HIS LOVE INSTEAD OF A PROMISED PICTURE-BOOK + +_The greater and the lesser ills:_ + He waved his grey hand wearily + Back to the anger of the sea, +Then forward to the blue of hills. + +Out from the shattered barquenteen + The black frieze-coated sailors bore + Their dying despot to the shore +And wove a crazy palanquin. + +They found a valley where the rain + Had worn the fern-wood to a paste + And tiny streams came down in haste +To eastward of the mountain chain. + +And here was handiwork of Cretes, + And olives grew beside a stone, + And one slim phallos stood alone +Blasphemed at by the paroquets. + +Hard by a wall of basalt bars + The night came like a settling bird, + And here he wept and slept and stirred +Faintly beneath the turning stars. + +Then like a splash of saffron whey + That spills from out a bogwood bowl + Oozed from the mountain clefts the whole +Rich and reluctant light of day. + +And when he neither moved nor spoke + And did not heed the morning call, + They laid him underneath the wall +And wrapped him in a purple cloak. + +_From the Modern Persian._ + + + +TOO SHORT A NIGHT + +Lily of Streams lay by my side last night +And to my prayers gave answers of delight; +Day came before our fairy-tale was finished, +Because the tale was long, not short the night. + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +THE ROSES + +Roses are a wandering scent from heaven. +Rose-seller, why do you sell your roses? +For silver? But with the silver from your roses +What can you buy so precious as your roses? + +_From the Persian of Abu-Yshac (middle of the tenth century)._ + + + +I ASKED MY LOVE + +I asked my love: "Why do you make yourself so beautiful?" + "To please myself. +I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness; +The loved one and the lover and the love." + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +A REQUEST + +When I am cold and undesirous and my lids lie dead, +Come to watch by the body that loved you and say: +This is _Rondagui_, whom I killed and my heart regrets for ever. + +_From the Persian of Rondagui (tenth century)._ + + + +SEE YOU HAVE DANCERS + +See you have dancers and wine and a girl like one of the angels + (If they exist), +And find a clear stream singing near its birth and a bed of moss + (If moss exists), +For loving and singing to the dancers and drinking and forgetting hell + (If hell exists), +Because this is a pastime better than paradise + (If paradise exists). + +_From the Persian of Omar Khayyam (eleventh century)._ + + + + +_SIAM_ + + + +THE SIGHING HEART + +I made search for you all my life, and when I found you +There came a trouble on me, +So that it seemed my blood escaped +And my life ran back from me +And my heart slipped into you. +It seems, also, that you are the moon +And that I am at the top of a tree. +If I had wings I would spread them as far as you, +Dear bud, that will not open +Though the kisses of the holy bird knock at your petal door. + +_Song of Siam._ + + + + +_SYRIA_ + + + +HANDING OVER THE GUN + +Kill me if you will not love me. + Here are flints; +Ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard, + On the black powder. + +Only you must not shoot me through the head, + Nor touch my heart; +Because my head is full of the ways of you + And my heart is dead. + +_Song of Syria._ + + + + +_TATARS_ + + + +HONEY + +Young man, +If you try to eat honey +On the blade of a knife, +You will cut yourself. + +If you try to taste honey +On the kiss of a woman, +Taste with the lips only, +If not, young man, +You will bite your own heart. + +_Song of the Tatars._ + + + + +_THIBET_ + + + +THE LOVE OF THE ARCHER PRINCE + +The Khan. + +The son of the Khan. + +The love of the son of the Khan. + +The veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of + the Khan. + +The buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The Archer Prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that + scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love + of the son of the Khan. + +And the girl married the Archer Prince whose love kissed the + buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +_Street Song of Thibet._ + + + + +_TURKESTAN_ + + + +DISTICH + +Your face upon a drop of purple wine +Shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood. + +_From the Turkic of Hussein Baikrani._ + + + +THINGS SEEN IN A BATTLE + +Clear diamond heart, +I have been hunting death +Among the swords. + +But death abhors my shadow, +And I come back +Wounded with memories. + +Your eyes, +For steel is amorous of steel +And there are bright blue sparks. + +Your lips, +I see great bloody roses +Cut in white dead breasts. + +Your bed, +For I see wrestling bodies +Under the evening star. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + +HUNTER'S SONG + +Not a stone from my black sling +Ever misses anything, +But the arrows of your eye +Surer shoot and faster fly. + +Not one creature that I hit +Lingers on to know of it, +But the game that falls to love +Lives and lingers long enough. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + + +_TURKEY_ + + + +THE BATH + +My dreams are bubbles of cool light, +Sunbeams mingled in the light green +Waters of your bath. + +Through fretted spaces in the olive wood +My love adventures with the white sun. + +I dive into the ice-coloured shadows +Where the water is like light blue flowers +Dancing on mirrors of silver. + +The sun rolls under the waters of your bath +Like the body of a strong swimmer. + +And now you cool your feet, +Which have the look of apple flowers, +Under the water on the oval marble +Coloured like yellow roses. + +Your scarlet nipples +Waver under the green kisses of the water, +Flowers drowned in a mountain stream. + +_From the Modern Turkish._ + + + +DISTICH + +Lions tremble at my claws; +And I at a gazelle with eyes. + +_From the Turkish of Sultan Selim I._ + + + +A PROVERB + +Before you love, +Learn to run through snow +Leaving no footprint. + +_From the Turkish._ + + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + +Here are the doleful rains, +And one would say the sky is weeping +The death of the tolerable weather. + +Tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds +And we sit down indoors. + +Now is the time for poetry coloured with summer. +Let it fall on the white paper +As ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree. + +I will dip down my lips into my cup +Each time I wet my brush. + +And keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders, +For time escapes away from you and me +Quicker than birds. + +_From the Chinese of Tu Fu (712-770)._ + + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + +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. + +AFGHANISTAN + +SIKANDER, Alexander the Great. + +SHALIBAGH, the notable garden of Shalimar in Lahore, planted by Shah +Jahan in 1637. + +ABDEL QADIR GILANI, Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, founder of the Qadirite +order of the Dervishes, twelfth century. + +ANNAM + +K'IEN NIUe and CHIK NUe: 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 _A Lute of Jade_ which deals delightfully with Po-Chue-i; +and to Lafcadio Hearn's _Romance of the Milky Way._ + +ARABIC + +ANTAR, the hero Antar Ebn Cheddad Ebn Amr Corad, who lived in the late +sixth and early seventh centuries, owes his European reputation to +_Siret Antar_, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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.'" + +My most cordial thanks are due to The Bookworm, of the _Weekly +Dispatch_, for permission to make this long quotation from an article +headed, "The Strange Story of John Duncan, the Arab-Scot," which +appeared over his _nom de plume_ in the issue of that newspaper for +March 30, 1919. + +CHINA + +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 _Coloured Stars_. Mr. Wing is an +American-born Chinese and practises the profession of a valet. + +JAPAN + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH: this poem is a _zi-sei_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +KAZACKS + +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. + +LAOS + +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. + +PERSIA + +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: + + I often wonder what the vintners buy + One-half so precious as the goods they sell. + +THIBET + +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." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Garden of Bright Waters +by Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + +This file should be named 7tgbw10.txt or 7tgbw10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7tgbw11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7tgbw10a.txt + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, +Tom Allen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Garden of Bright Waters + One Hundred and Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + +Author: Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9920] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 31, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, +Tom Allen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +The Garden Of Bright Waters + +One Hundred And Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + + +Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +1920 + + + + +Dedication: To My Wife + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +Head in hand, I look at the paper leaf; +It is still white. + +I look at the ink +Dry on the end of my brush. + +My soul sleeps. +Will it ever wake? + +I walk a little in the pouring of the sun +And pass my hands over the higher flowers. + +There is the soft green forest, +There are the sweet lines of the mountains +Carved with snow, red in the sunlight. + +I see the slow march of the clouds, +I hear the crows jeering, and I come back + +To sit and look at the paper leaf, +Which is still white +Under my brush. + +_From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850)._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + + +AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO) + +The Princess of Qulzum +Come, my Beloved! +Ballade of Muhammad Khan +Ghazal of Tavakkul +Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal +Ghazal of Sayyid Ahmad +Ghazal of Pir Muhammad +Ballade of Nurshali +Ghazal of Muhammad Din Tilai +Micra +Ballade of Muhammad Din Tilai +Ghazal of Mira +Ghazal of Majid Shah +Ghazal of Mira +Ballade of Ajam the Washerman +Ghazal of Isa Akhun Zada + + +ANNAM + +The Bamboo Garden +Stranger Things have Happened +Nocturne +The Gao Flower +The Girl of Ke-Mo +The Little Woman of Clear River +Waiting to Marry a Student +A Song for Two + + +ARABIC + +Sand +Two Similes +Melodian +The Lost Lady +Love Brown and Bitter +Okhouan +Lying Down Alone +Old Greek Lovers +Night and Morning +In a Yellow Frame +Because the Good are Never Fair +White and Green and Black Tears +A Conceit +Values +What Love Is +The Dancing Heart +The Great Offence +An Escape +Three Queens +Her Nails +Perturbation at Dawn +The Resurrection of the Tattooed Girl +Moallaka of Antar +Moallaka of Amr Ebn Kultum + + +BALUCHISTAN + +Comparisons + + +BURMA + +A Canker in the Heart + + +CAMBODIA + +Disquiet + + +CAUCASUS + +Vengeance +The Flight + + +CHINA + +We were Two Green Rushes +Song Writer Paid with Air +The Bad Road +The Western Window +In Lukewarm Weather +Written on White Frost +A Flute of Marvel +The Willow-Leaf +A Poet Looks at the Moon +We Two in a Park at Night +The Jade Staircase +The Morning Shower +A Virtuous Wife +Written on a Wall in Spring +A Poet Thinks +In the Cold Night + + +DAGHESTAN + +Winter Comes + + +GEORGIA + +Part of a Ghazal + + +HINDUSTAN + +Fard +Incurable +A Poem +Fard +Mortification +Fard + + +JAPAN + +Grief and the Sleeve +Drink Song +A Boat Comes In +The Opinion of Men +Old Scent of the Plum-tree +An Orange Sleeve +Invitation +The Clocks of Death +Green Food for a Queen +The Cushion +A Single Night +At a Dance of Girls +Alone One Night + + +KAFIRISTAN + +Walking up a Hill at Dawn +Proposal of Marriage + + +KAZACKS + +You do not Want Me, Zohrah + + +KOREA + +Tears +The Dream +Separation + + +KURDISTAN + +Paradise + + +LAOS + +Misadventure +Khap-Salung +The Holy Swan + + +MANCHURIA + +Fire and Love +Hearts of Women + + + +PERSIA + +To His Love instead of a Promised Picture Book +Too Short a Night +The Roses +I Asked my Love +A Request +See You Have Dancers + + +SIAM + +The Sighing Heart + + +SYRIA + +Handing over the Gun + + +TATARS + +Honey + + +THIBET + +The Love of the Archer Prince + + +TURKESTAN + +Distich +Things Seen in Battle +Hunter's Song + + +TURKEY + +The Bath +Distich +A Proverb + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + + + + +_AFGHANISTAN_ + + + +THE PRINCESS OF QULZUM +(BALLADE BY NUR UDDIN) + +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight; +I have seen the daughter of the King of Qulzum passing from grace to + grace. +Yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house +And laughed with a thousand graces. +She has a little pearl and coral cap +And rides in a palanquin with servants about her +And claps her hands, being too proud to call. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"My palanquin is truly green and blue; +I fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure; +I make men run up and down before me, +And am not as young a girl as you pretend. +I am of Iran, of a powerful house, I am pure steel. +I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore, +You walk with a joyous step, +Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy. +A pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens, +I would not that your mother should give my pear-tree +To twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead +Throw rays and light the hearts of far men; +The ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond. +I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine +And my words are chosen. +But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I trust them to you." +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things; +And two great saints are my perpetual guards. +There is never a song of _Nur Uddin_ but has in it a great achievement +And is as brilliant as a young hyacinth; +I pour a ray of honey on my disciples, +There is as it were a fire in my ballades. +I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +COME, MY BELOVED! + +Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved! +The doves are moaning and calling and will not cease. + Come, my beloved! + +"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love. +Sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth." + Come, my beloved! + +The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair, +The balance of your neck is like a jacinth; +You have set a star of green between your brows. + Come, my beloved! + +Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills +Are the soft colours of the airy veil +To your rose knee from your curved almond waist. + Come, my beloved! + +Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags, +Stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings. + Come, my beloved! + +_Muhammad Din_ is wandering; he is drunken and mad; +For a year he has been dying. Send for the doctor! + Come, my beloved! + +_From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth +century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN + +She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower; +Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the + garden. + +Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to + break. +Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well; +She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her. + +She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose; +She breaks not, she is strong. +She has a throne, but comes into the woods for love. + +I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my + idol; +My idol has come to me. +She has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword. +The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as Badri. +She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue + scarf. +Give your garland to _Muhammad Khan_, my idol; +My idol has come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL + +To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city +From which my heart might leap to heaven. + +Her breasts are a garden of white roses +Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves. + +Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing +And doves are moaning with arrows because of her. + +All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh; +She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there. + +Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair.... +You have killed _Tavakkul_, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL + +I am burning, I am crumbled into powder, +I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears. + +Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish; +I return no more, I am counted among the dead. + +I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames; +You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day. + +People have come to see me from far towns, +Great and small, arriving with bare heads, +For I have become one of the great historical lovers. + +In the desire of your red lips +My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses. +It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose +That my heart is taken. + +"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, _Sayyid Kamal_. +I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless." + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD + +My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly; +Day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly. + +Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly; +Setting quickly and heavily and very quietly. + +If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open; +To-morrow is a day when no man buys, +And the caravan is broken up very quietly. + +The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake +_Sayyid Ahmad_ is walking and mourning very quietly. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD + +The season of parting has come up with the wind; +My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation. + +Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless. +None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation. + +There is no one near me noble enough to be told; +I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation. + +She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me. +Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of + separation. + +I am _Pir Muhammad_ and I am stumbling away to die; +She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF NURSHALI + +Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path +When your girl friends go laughing by the road. +"Come in haste this dusk; I have become your nightingale, +And the young girls leave me alone because of you. +I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you; +Take my wrist, for there is no shame +And my father has gone out. +Sit near me on this red bed quietly." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips; +Your hand is strong upon my breast; +My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree." + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers." +But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair. +This is _Nurshali_ sighing for the garden; + Come in haste this dusk, dear child. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +The world is fainting +And falling into a swoon. + +The world is turning and changing; +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain +And pierced a brass hill for the love of Shirin. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love +And death became the hostess of his lady. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated. +You know the story; +There is no lasting love. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_Muhammad Din_ is ill for the matter of a little honey; +This is a moment to be generous. +The world is fainting, +And you will weep at last. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +MICRA + +When you lie with me and love me, +You give me a second life of young gold; +And when you lie with me and love me not, +I am as one who puts out hands in the dark +And touches cold wet death. + +_From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI + +A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. +On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses, +They speak about your beauty in Lahore. +You have your mother's lips; +Your ring is frosted with rubies, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies; +I was unhappy and you looked over the wall, +I saw your face among the crimson lilies; +There is no armour that a lover can buy, +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers +And they go away. +I have fatigued the wise of many lands, +And my hair is a tangle of serpents. +What is the profit of these shawls without you? +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +"A squadron of my father's men are about me, +And I have woven a collar of yellow flowers. +My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of bhang, +Being a daughter of the daughter of queens. +You cannot touch me because of my palaces, +And my hair is a panther's shadow." + +I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song; +For I am a disciple of Abdel Qadir Gilani, +And my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +Your ring is frosted with rubies.... +_Muhammad Din_ awaits the parting of your scarves; +_Tilai_ is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree; +And your hair is a panther's shadow. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. +I came to ask for alms and have lost my all, +I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me, +And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +The lamp burns and I must play the green moth. +I have stolen her scented rope of flowers, +But the women caught me and built a little gaol +About my heart with your old playthings. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_Mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die +Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief; +It is the hour; make haste. +The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH + +Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me; +The black dust has covered my pretty one. + +My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend; +How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here. + +I can only dream of the stature of my friend; +The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden. + +Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers; +I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey. + +I am _Majid Shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead; +Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF MIRA + +The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men +Is buried alive under the vault of Time. + +Autumn comes pillaging gardens; +The bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling. + +Wars start up wherever your eye glances, +And the young men moan marching on to the batteries. + +_Mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road; +He has taken his death-wound in battle. + + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + +BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN + +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me. +Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow; +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart; +Come to me. + +The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart +Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings; +Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart, +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me. + +Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more + beautiful +Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings. +The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope; +But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves. + +Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves, +And give yourself once to _Ajam_. Slip away weeping, +Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me. +Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, +Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._ + + + +GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA + +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing, +Lend your small ears to my quick sighing. +Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death; +And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes. +Life is a tale ill constructed without love. +Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +I am at your door wasted and white and dying. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam +Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom. +All the world has spied on us and seen our love, +And in four days or five days will be whispering evil. +Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. +After that we will both of us go to prison. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +My quick sighings carry a tender promise; +I will have time to remember in the battle, +Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me. +The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword, +Though I have foes more than the stars +Of a thousand valley starlights. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +I am as strong as Sikander, I am as strong as death; +You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me, +And laughing bloody battalions following after. +_Isa Gal_ is stronger than God; +Do not whip me, do not whip me, +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me. +Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; +Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. + +_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._ + + + + +_ANNAM_ + + + +THE BAMBOO GARDEN + +Old bamboos are about my house, +And the floor of my house is untidy with old books. +It is sweet to rest in the shade of it +And read the poems of the masters. + +But I remember a delightful fisherman +Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening. +In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float +Over the lakes and rivers, +Watching his nets and singing. + +A sweet boy promised to marry me, +But he went away and left +Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift +In the middle of a river. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED + +Do not believe that ink is always black, + Or lime white, or lemon sour; +You cannot ring one bell from two pagodas, +You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son. + I found you binding an orange spray + Of flowers with white flowers; + I never noticed the flower gathering + Of other village ladies. +Would you like me to go and see your father and mother? + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +NOCTURNE + +It is late at night +And the North Star is shining. +The mist covers the rice-fields +And the bamboos +Are whispering full of crickets. +The watch beats on the iron-wood gong, +And priests are ringing the pagoda bells. +We hear the far-away games of peasants +And distant singing in the cottages. + +It is late at night. +As we talk gently, +Sitting by one another, +Life is as beautiful as night. +The red moon is rising +On the mountain side +Like a fire started among the trees. +There is the North Star +Shining like a paper lantern. +The light air brings dew to our faces +And the sound of tamtams beaten far away. +Let us sit like this all night. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GAO FLOWER + +I am the Gao flower high in a tree, +You are the grass Long Mai on the path-side. +When heat comes down after the dews of morning +The flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass, +The grass Long Mai that keeps the fallen Gao. + +Folk who let their daughters grow +Without achieving a husband +Might easily forget to fence their garden, +Or let their radishes grow flower and rank +When they could eat them ripe and tender. + +Come to me, you that I see walk +Every night in a red turban; +Young man with the white turban, come to me. +We will plant marrows together in a garden, +And there may be little marrows for your children. + +I will dye your turban blue and red and yellow, +You with the white turban. +You that are passing with a load of water, +I call you +And you do not even turn your head. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE GIRL OF KE-MO + +I'm a girl of Ke-Mo village +Selling my rice wine on the road. +Mine is the strongest rice wine in the land, +Though my bottle is so patched and dirty. +These silly rags are not my body, +The parts you cannot see are counted pleasant; +But you are just too drunk to drink my wine, +And just too plain to lie down on my mat. +He who would drink the wine of the girl of Ke-Mo +Needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +THE LITTLE WOMAN OF CLEAR RIVER + +Clear River twists nine times about +Clear River; but so deep +That none can see the green sand. +You hear the birds about Clear River: +Dik, dik, dik, dik, Diu dik. + +A little woman with jade eyes +Leans on the wall of a pavilion. +She has the moonrise in her heart +And the singing of love songs +Comes to her up the river. + +She stands and dreams for me +Outside the house by the bamboo door. +In a minute +I will leave my shadow +And talk to her of poetry and love. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +WAITING TO MARRY A STUDENT + +I still walk slowly on the river bank +Where I came singing, +And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +Setting red in the river. +I want Autumn, +I want the leaves to begin falling at once, +So that the cold time may bring us close again +Like K'ien Niü and Chik Nü, the two stars. + +Each year when Autumn comes +The crows make a black bridge across the milky sea, +And then these two poor stars +Can run together in gold and be at peace. +Darling, for my sake work hard +And be received with honour at the Examinations. + +Since I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun +I have forgotten how to sing +And how to paddle the canoe across the lake. +I know how to sit down and how to be sad, +And I know how to say nothing; +But every other art has slipped away. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + +A SONG FOR TWO + +I have lacquered my teeth to find a husband. + +And I have need of a wife. +Give me a kiss and they will marry us +At Mo-Lao, my village. + +I will marry you if you will wait for me, +Wait till the banana puts forth branches, +And fruit hangs heavy on the Sung-tree, +And the onion flowers; +Wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs, +And the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest. + +_Song of Annam._ + + + + +_ARABIC_ + + + +SAND + +The sand is like acres of wet milk +Poured out under the moonlight; +It crawls up about your brown feet +Like wine trodden from white stars. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +TWO SIMILES + +You have taken away my cloak, +My cloak of weariness; +Take my coat also, +My many-coloured coat of life.... + +On this great nursery floor +I had three toys, +A bright and varnished vow, +A Speckled Monster, best of boys, +True friend to me, and more +Beloved and a thing of cost, +My doll painted like life; and now +One is broken and two are lost. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +MELODIAN + +I have been at this shooting-gallery too long. +It is monotonous how the little coloured balls +Make up and down on their silvery water thread; +It would be pleasant to have money and go instead +To watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls +Of the World-famous Caravan of Dance and Song. + +And I want to go out beyond the turf fires there, +After I've looked at your just smiling face, +To that untented silent dark blue nighted place; +And wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb +And drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ... +You have the most understanding face in all the fair. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +THE LOST LADY + +You are the drowned, +Star that I found +Washed on the rim of the sea +Before the morning. +You are the little dying light +That stopped me in the night. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +LOVE BROWN AND BITTER + +You know so well how to stay me with vapours +Distilled expertly to that unworthy end; +You know the poses of your body I love best +And that I am cheerful with your head on my breast, +You know you please me by disliking one friend; +You read up what amuses me in the papers. + +Who knows me knows I am not of those fools +That gets tired of a woman who is kind to them, +Yet you know not how stifled you render me +By learning me so well, how I long to see +An unpractised girl under your clever phlegm, +A soul not so letter-perfect in the rules. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OKHOUAN + +A mole shows black +Between her mouth and cheek. + +As if a negro, +Coming into a garden, +Wavered between a purple rose +And a scarlet camomile. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +LYING DOWN ALONE + +I shall never see your tired sleep +In the bed that you make beautiful, +Nor hardly ever be a dream +That plays by your dark hair; +Yet I think I know your turning sigh +And your trusting arm's abandonment, +For they are the picture of my night, +My night that does not end. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +OLD GREEK LOVERS + +They put wild olive and acanthus up +With tufts of yellow wool above the door +When a man died in Greece and in Greek Islands, + Grey stone by the blue sea, +Or sage-green trees down to the water's edge. + How many clanging years ago + I, also withering into death, sat with him, + Old man of so white hair who only, + Only looked past me into the red fire. +At last his words were all a jumble of plum-trees +And white boys smelling of the sea's green wine +And practice of his lyre. Suddenly + The bleak resurgent mind +Called wonderfully clear: "What mark have I left?" + Crying girls with wine and linen +Washed the straight old body and wrapped up, + And set the doorward feet. +Later for me also under Greek sun +The pendant leaves in green and bitter flakes +Blew out to join the wastage of the world, +And wool, I take it, in the nests of birds. + +_From the Arabic of John Duncan._ + + + +NIGHT AND MORNING + +The great brightness of the burning of the stars, +Little frightened love, +Is like your eyes, +When in the heavy dusk +You question the dark blue shadows, +Fearing an evil. + +Below the night +The one clear line of dawn; +As it were your head +Where there is one golden hair +Though your hair is very brown. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Moattaz) (ninth century)._ + + + +IN A YELLOW FRAME + +Her hand tinted to gold with henna +Gave me a cup of wine like gold water, +And I said: The moon rise, the sun rise. + +_From the Arabic of Hefny-bey-Nassif (contemporary)._ + + + +BECAUSE THE GOOD ARE NEVER FAIR + +When she appears the daylight envies her garment, +The wanton daylight envies her garment +To show it to the jealous sun. + +And when she walks, +All women tall and tiny +Want her figure and start crying. + +Because of your mouth, +Long life to the Agata valley, +Long life to pearls. + +Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks, +But I am undecided, +For there is a hint of the tops of flames +In their purple shining. + +_From the Arabic of Ahmed Bey Chawky (contemporary)._ + + + +WHITE AND GREEN AND BLACK TEARS + +Why are your tears so white? +Dear, I have wept so long +That my old tears grow white like my old hair. + +Why are your tears so green? +Dear, the waters are wept away +And the green gall is flowing. + +Why are your tears so black? +Dear, the weeping is over +And the black flash you loved is breaking. + +_From the Arabic (School of Ebn-el-Farid) (thirteenth century)._ + + + +A CONCEIT + +I hide my love, +I will not say her name. +And yet since I confess +I love, her name is told. +You know that if I love +It must be ... Whom? + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Kalakis Abu El Fath Nasrallah (eleventh century)._ + + + +VALUES + +Since there is excitement +In suffering for a woman, +Let him burn on. +The dust in a wolf's eyes +Is balm of flowers to the wolf +When a flock of sheep has raised it. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +WHAT LOVE IS + +Love starts with a little throb in the heart, +And in the end one dies +Like an ill-treated toy. +Love is born in a look or in four words, +The little spark that burnt the whole house. +Love is at first a look, +And then a smile, +And then a word, +And then a promise, +And then a meeting of two among flowers. + +_From the Arabic._ + + + +THE DANCING HEART + +When she came she said: +You know that your love is granted, +Why is your heart trembling? + +And I: +You are bringing joy for my heart +And so my heart is dancing. + +_From the Arabic of Urak El Hutail._ + + + +THE GREAT OFFENCE + +She seemed so bored, +I wanted to embrace her by surprise; +But then the scalding waters +Fell from her eyes and burnt her roses. + +I offered her a cup.... + +And came to paradise.... + +Ah, sorrow, +When she rose from the waves of wine +I thought she would have killed me +With the swords of her desolation.... + +Especially as I had tied her girdle +With the wrong bow. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +AN ESCAPE + +She was beautiful that evening and so gay.... + +In little games +My hand had slipped her mantle, +I am not sure +About her skirts. + +Then in the night's curtain of shadows, +Heavy and discreet, +I asked and she replied: +To-morrow. + +Next day I came +Saying, Remember. + +Words of a night, she said, to bring the day. + +_From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century)._ + + + +THREE QUEENS + +Three sweet drivers hold the reins, +And hold the places of my heart. +A great people obeys me, +But these three obey me not. +Am I then a lesser king than love? + +_From the Arabic of Haroun El Raschid (eighth century)._ + + + +HER NAILS + +She is as wise as Hippocrates, +As beautiful as Joseph, +As sweet-voiced as David, +As pure as Mary. + +I am as sad as Jacob, +As lonely as Jonah, +As patient as Job, +As unfortunate as Adam. + +When I met her again +And saw her nails +Prettily purpled, +I reproached her for making up +When I was not there. + +She told me gently +That she was no coquette, +But had wept tears of blood +Because I was not there, +And maybe she had dried her eyes +With her little hands. + +I would like to have wept before she wept; +But she wept first +And has the better love. +Her eyes are long eyes, +And her brows are the bows of subtle strong men. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +PERTURBATION AT DAWN + +Day comes.... + +And when she sees the withering of the violet garden +And the saffron garden flowering, +The stars escaping on their black horse +And dawn on her white horse arriving, +She is afraid. + +Against the sighing of her frightened breasts +She puts her hand; +I see what I have never seen, +Five perfect lines on a crystal leaf +Written with coral pens. + +_From the Arabic of Ebn Maatuk (seventeenth century)._ + + + +THE RESURRECTION OF THE TATTOOED GIRL + +Her hands are filled with what I lack, +And on her arms are pictures, +Looking like files of ants forsaking the battalions, +Or hail inlaid by broken clouds on green lawns. + +She fears the arrows of her proper eyes +And has her hands in armour. + +She has stretched her hands in a cup to me, +Begging for my heart. +She has circled me with the black magic of her brows +And shot small arrows at me. + +The black curl that lies upon her temple +Is a scorpion pointing his needle at the stars. + +Her eyes seem tight, tight shut; +But I believe she is awake. + +_From the Arabic of Yazid Ebn Moauia (seventh century)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +The poets have muddied all the little fountains. + +Yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house? + +O dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa, +Speak to me, for my camel and I salute you. + +My camel is as tall as a tower, and I make him stand +And give my aching heart to the wind of the desert. + +O erstwhile dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa; +And my tribe in the valleys of Hazn and Samna +And in the valley of Motethalem! + +Salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins +Since Oum El Aythan gathered and went away. + +Now is the dwelling of Abla +In a valley of men who roar like lions. +It will be hard to come to you, O daughter of Makhram. + + * * * * * + +Abla is a green rush +That feeds beside the water. + +But they have taken her to Oneiza +And my tribe feeds in lazy Ghailam valley. + +They fixed the going, and the camels +Waked in the night and evilly prepared. + +I was afraid when I saw the camels +Standing ready among the tents +And eating grain to make them swift. + +I counted forty-two milk camels, +Black as the wings of a black crow. + +White and purple are the lilies of the valley, +But Abla is a branch of flowers. + +Who will guide me to the dwelling of Abla? + +_From the Arabic of Antar (late sixth and early seventh centuries)._ + + + +MOALLAKA + +Rise and hold up the curved glass, +And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar. + +Pour wine for us, whose golden colour +Is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron. + +Pour us wine to make us generous +And carelessly happy in the old way. + +Pour us wine that gives the miser +A sumptuous generosity and disregard. + +O Oum-Amr, you have prevented me from the cup +When it should have been moving to the right; +And yet the one of us three that you would not serve +Is not the least worthy. + +How many cups have I not emptied at Balbek, +And emptied at Damas and emptied at Cacerin! + +More cups! more cups! for death will have his day; +His are we and he ours. + + * * * * * + +By herself she is fearless +And gives her arms to the air, +The limbs of a long camel that has not borne. + +She gives the air her breasts, +Unfingered ivory. + +She gives the air her long self and her curved self, +And hips so round and heavy that they are tired. + +All these noble abundances of girlhood +Make the doors divinely narrow and myself insane. + +Columns of marble and ivory in the old way, +And anklets chinking in gold and musical bracelets. + +Without her I am a she-camel that has lost, +And howls in the sand at night. + +Without her I am as sad as an old mother +Hearing of the death of her many sons. + +_From the Arabic of Amr Ebn Kultum (seventh century)._ + + + + +_BALUCHISTAN_ + + + +COMPARISONS + +Touch my hands with your fingers, yellow wallflower. +Did God use a bluer paint +Painting the sky for the gold sun +Or making the sea about your two black stars? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spread his bluest paint +On a hollow sky or a girl's eye, +But on a topaz chain, from you to me. + +Touch my temples with your fingers, scarlet rose. +Did God use a stronger light +When He fashioned and dropped the sun into the sky +Or dropped your black stars into their blue sea? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not spend His strongest light +On a sun above or a look of love, +But on a round gold ring, from you to me. + +Touch my cheeks with your fingers, blue hyacinth. +Did God use a whiter silk +Weaving the veil for your fevered roses, +Or spinning the moon that lies across your face? + +Treasure the touches of my fingers. +God did not waste His whitest web +On veils of silk or moons of milk, +But on a marriage cap, from you to me. + +_Popular Song of Baluchistan._ + + + + +_BURMA_ + + + +A CANKER IN THE HEART + +I made a bitter song +When I was a boy, +About a girl +With hot earth-coloured hair, +Who lived with me +And left me. + +I made a sour song +On her marriage-day, +That ever his kisses +Would be ghosts of mine, +And ever the measure +Of his halting love +Flow to my music. + +It was a silly song, +Dear wife with cool black hair, +And yet when I recall +(At night with you asleep) +That once you gave yourself +Before we met, +I do not quite well know +What song to make. + +_From the Burmese (nineteenth century) (¿ by Asmapur)._ + + + + +_CAMBODIA_ + + + +DISQUIET + +Brother, my thought of you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Goes up about you +As her own scent +Goes up about the rose. + +The bracelets on my arms +Have grown too large +Because you went away. + +I think the sun of love +Melted the snow of parting, +For the white river of tears has overflowed. + +But though I am sad +I am still beautiful, +The girl that you desired +In April. + +Brother, my love for you +In this letter on a palm-leaf +Brightens about you +As her own rays +Brighten about the moon. + +_Love Poem of Cambodia._ + + + + +_CAUCASUS_ + + + +VENGEANCE + +Aischa was mine, +My tender cousin, +My blond lover; +And you knew our love, +Uncle without bowels, +Foul old man. + +For a few weights of gold +You sold her to the blacks, +And they will drive a stinking trade +At the dark market; +Your slender daughter, +The free child of our hills. + +She will go to serve the bed +Of a fat man with no God, +A guts that cannot walk, +A belly hiding his own feet, +A rolling paunch +Between itself and love. + +She was slim and quick +Like the antelope of our hills +When he comes down in the summer-time +To bathe in the pools of Tereck, +Her stainless flesh +Was all moonlight. + +Her long silk hair +Was of so fine a gold +And of so honey-like a brown +That bees flew there, +And her red lips +Were flowers in sunlight. + +She was fair, alas, she was fair, +So that her beauty goes +To a garden of dying flowers, +Made one with the girls that mourn +And wither for light and love +Behind the harem bars. + +And you have dirty dreams +That she will be Sultane, +And you will drink and boast +And roll about, +The grinning ancestor +Of little kings. + +Hugging your very wicked gold +Within a greasy belt, +You paddle exulting like a bald ape +That glories to defile, +Unmindful of two hot young streams +Of tears. + +You stole this dirty gold, +For this gold means +Your daughter's freedom +And your nephew's love, +Two fresh and lovely things +Groaning within your belt. + +The sunny playing of our childhood +At the green foot of Elbours, +The starry playing of our youth +Beyond the flowery fences, +These sigh their lost delights +Within your belt. + +Give me the gold; +Damn you, give me the gold.... +You kill my mercy +When you kill my love.... +Hold up your trembling sword; +For this is death. + + * * * * * + +I take the belt from the dead loins +That put away my love, +And turn my sweet white horse +After the caravan.... +With dirty gold and clean steel +I'll set Aischa free. + +_Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + +THE FLIGHT + +Softly into the saddle +Of my black horse with white feet; +Your brothers are frowning +And grasping swords in sleep. +My rifle is as clean as moonlight, +My flints are new; +My long grey sword is sighing +In his blue sheath. +Fatima gave me my grey sword +Of Temrouk steel, +Damascened in red gold +To cut a pathway for the feet of love. + +My eye is dark and keen, +My hand has never trembled on the sword. +If your brothers rise and follow +On their stormy horses, +If they stretch their hot hands +To catch you from my breast, +My rifle shall not sing to them, +My steel shall spare. +My rifle's song is for my yellow girl, +My eye is dark and keen, +I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart +That ever lady loved with in the world. + +My hand upon the sword +Shall be so strong, +He'll find the little laughing place +Where you dance in my breast; +And we'll have no more of the silly world +Where our lips must lie apart. +We'll let death pour our souls +Into one cup, +And mount like joyous birds to God +With hearts on fire, +And God will mingle us into one shape +In an eternal garden of gold stars. + +_Love Ballad of the Caucasus._ + + + + +_CHINA_ + + + +WE WERE TWO GREEN RUSHES + +We were two green rushes by opposing banks, + And the small stream ran between. +Not till the water beat us down + Could we be brought together, +Not till the winter came +Could we be mingled in a frosty sleep, + Locked down and close. + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +SONG WRITER PAID WITH AIR + +I sit on a white wood box +Smeared with the black name +Of a seller of white sugar. +The little brown table is so dirty +That if I had food +I do not think I could eat. + +How can I promise violets drunken in wine +For your amusement, +How can I powder your blue cotton dress +With splinters of emerald, +How can I sing you songs of the amber pear, +Or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers +Mingled scents in a rose agate bowl? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE BAD ROAD + +I have seen a pathway shaded by green great trees, +A road bordered by thickets light with flowers. + +My eyes have entered in under the green shadow, +And made a cool journey far along the road. + +But I shall not take the road, +Because it does not lead to her house. + +When she was born +They shut her little feet in iron boxes, +So that my beloved never walks the roads. + +When she was born +They shut her heart in a box of iron, +So that my beloved shall never love me. + +_From the Chinese._ + + + +THE WESTERN WINDOW + +At the head of a thousand roaring warriors, +With the sound of gongs, +My husband has departed +Following glory. + +At first I was overjoyed +To have a young girl's liberty. + +Now I look at the yellowing willow-leaves; +They were green the day he left. + +I wonder if he also was glad? + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +IN LUKEWARM WEATHER + +The women who were girls a long time ago +Are sitting between the flower bushes +And speaking softly together: + +"They pretend that we are old and have white hair; +They say also that our faces +Are not like the spring moons. + +"Perhaps it is a lie; +We cannot see ourselves. + +"Who will tell us for certain +That winter is not at the other side of the mirror, +Obscuring our delights +And covering our hair with frost?" + +_From the Chinese of Wang Ch'ang Ling (eighth century)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON WHITE FROST + +The white frost covers all the arbute-trees, +Like powder on the faces of women. + +Looking from window consider +That a man without women is like a flower +Naked without its leaves. + +To drive away my bitterness + +I write this thought with my narrowed breath +On the white frost. + +_From the Chinese of Wang Chi (sixth and seventh centuries)._ + + + +A FLUTE OF MARVEL + +Under the leaves and cool flowers +The wind brought me the sound of a flute +From far away. + +I cut a branch of willow +And answered with a lazy song. + +Even at night, when all slept, +The birds were listening to a conversation +In their own language. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-763)._ + + + +THE WILLOW-LEAF + +I am in love with a child dreaming at the window. + +Not for her elaborate house +On the banks of Yellow River; + +But for a willow-leaf she has let fall + Into the water. + +I am in love with the east breeze. + +Not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches + White on Eastern Hill; + +But that he has drifted the willow-leaf + Against my boat. + +I am in love with the willow-leaf. + +Not that he speaks of green spring + Coming to us again; + +But that the dreaming girl +Pricked there a name with her embroidery needle, + And the name is mine. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chiu Ling (675-740)._ + + + +A POET LOOKS AT THE MOON + +I hear a woman singing in my garden, +But I look at the moon in spite of her. + +I have no thought of trying to find the singer +Singing in my garden; +I am looking at the moon. + +And I think the moon is honouring me +With a long silver look. + +I blink +As bats fly black across the ray; +But when I raise my head the silver look +Is still upon me. + +The moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror, +And poets are many as dragon scales +On the moonlit sea. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Jo Hsu._ + + + +WE TWO IN A PARK AT NIGHT + +We have walked over the high grass under the wet trees +To the gravel path beside the lake, we two. +A noise of light-stepping shadows follows now +From the dark green mist in which we waded. + +Six geese drop one by one into the shivering lake; +They say "Peeng" and then after a long time, "Peeng," +Swimming out softly to the moon. + +Three of the balancing dancing geese are dim and black, +And three are white and clear because of the moon; +In what explanatory dawn will our souls +Be seen to be the same? + +_From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century)._ + + + +THE JADE STAIRCASE + +The jade staircase is bright with dew. + +Slowly, this long night, the queen climbs, +Letting her gauze stockings and her elaborate robe +Drag in the shining water. + +Dazed with the light, +She lowers the crystal blind +Before the door of the pavilion. + +It leaps down like a waterfall in sunlight. + +While the tiny clashing dies down, +Sad and long dreaming, +She watches between the fragments of jade light +The shining of the autumn moon. + +_From the Chinese of Li Po (705-762)._ + + + +THE MORNING SHOWER + +The young lady shows like a thing of light +In the shadowy deeps of a fair window +Grown round with flowers. + +She is naked and leans forward, and her flesh like frost +Gathers the light beyond the stone brim. + +Only the hair made ready for the day +Suggests the charm of modern clothing. + +Her blond eyebrows are the shape of very young moons. + +The shower's bright water overflows +In a pure rain. + +She lifts one arm into an urgent line, +Cooling her rose fingers +On the grey metal of the spray. + +If I could choose my service, I would be the shower +Dashing over her in the sunlight. + +_From the Chinese of J.S. Ling (1901)._ + + + +A VIRTUOUS WIFE + +One moment I place your two bright pearls against my robe, +And the red silk mirrors a rose in each. + +Why did I not meet you before I married? + +See, there are two tears quivering at my lids; +I am giving back your pearls. + +_From the Chinese of Chang Chi (770-850)._ + + + +WRITTEN ON A WALL IN SPRING + +It rained last night, +But fair weather has come back +This morning. + +The green clusters of the palm-trees +Open and begin to throw shadows. + +But sorrow drifts slowly down about me. + +I come and go in my room, +Heart-heavy with memories. + +The neighbour green casts shadows of green +On my blind; +The moss, soaked in dew, +Takes the least print +Like delicate velvet. + +I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose +With shadowy underclothes of grenade red. + +How things still live again. + +I go and sit by the day balustrade + +And do nothing + +Except count the plains +And the mountains +And the valleys +And the rivers +That separate from my Spring. + +_From the Chinese (early nineteenth century)._ + + + +A POET THINKS + +The rain is due to fall, +The wind blows softly. + +The branches of the cinnamon are moving, +The begonias stir on the green mounds. + +Bright are the flying leaves, +The falling flowers are many. + +The wind lifted the dry dust, +And he is lifting the wet dust; +Here and there the wind moves everything + +He passes under light gauze +And touches me. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +There are leagues of sky, +And the water is flowing very fast. + +Why do the birds let their feathers +Fall among the clouds? + +I would have them carry my letters, +But the sky is long. + +The stream flows east +And not one wave comes back with news. + +The scented magnolias are shining still, +But always a few are falling. + +I close his box on my guitar of jasper +And lay aside my jade flute. + +I am alone with the beating of my heart. + +Stay with me to-night, +Old songs. + +_From the Chinese of Liu Chi (1311-1375)._ + + + +IN THE COLD NIGHT + +Reading in my book this cold night, +I have forgotten to go to sleep. +The perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover; +The last smoke must have left the hearth +When I was not looking. +My beautiful friend snatches away the lamp. +Do you know what the time is? + +_From the Chinese of Yuan Mei (1715-1797)._ + + + + +_DAGHESTAN_ + + + +WINTER COMES + +Winter scourges his horses +Through the North, +His hair is bitter snow +On the great wind. +The trees are weeping leaves +Because the nests are dead, +Because the flowers were nests of scent +And the nests had singing petals +And the flowers and nests are dead. + +Your voice brings back the songs +Of every nest, +Your eyes bring back the sun +Out of the South, +Violets and roses peep +Where you have laughed the snow away +And kissed the snow away, +And in my heart there is a garden still +For the lost birds. + +_Song of Daghestan._ + + + + +_GEORGIA_ + + + +PART OF A GHAZAL + +Lonely rose out-splendouring legions of roses, +How could the nightingales behold you and not sing? + +_By Rustwell of Georgia (from the Tariel, twelfth century)._ + + + + +_HINDUSTAN_ + + + +FARD + +Love brings the tiny sweat into your hair +Like stars marching in the dead of night. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +INCURABLE + +I desire the door-sill of my beloved + More than a king's house; +I desire the shadow of the wall where her beauty hides + More than the Delhi palaces. +Why did you wait till spring; +Were not my hands already full of red-thorned roses? + My heart is yours, +So that I know not which heart I hear sighing: + Yaquin, Yaquin, Yaquin, foolish Yaquin. + +_From the Hindustani of Yaquin (eighteenth century)._ + + + +A POEM + +Joy fills my eyes, remembering your hair, with tears, + And these tears roll and shine; +Into my thoughts are woven a dark night with raindrops + And the rolling and shining of love songs. + +_From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +Ever your rose face or black curls are with Shaguil; +Because your curls are night and your face is day. + +_From the Hindustani of Shaguil (eighteenth century)._ + + + +MORTIFICATION + +Now that the wind has taught your veil to show your eyes and hair, +All the world is bowing down to your dear head; +Faith has crept away to die beside the tomb of prayer, +And men are kneeling to your hair, and God is dead. + +_From the Hindustani of Hatifi (eighteenth century)._ + + + +FARD + +A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, +For all the heart's health is to be sick with love. + +_From the Hindustani of Miyan Jagnu (eighteenth century)._ + + + + +_JAPAN_ + + + +GRIEF AND THE SLEEVE + +Tears in the moonlight, +You know why, +Have marred the flowers +On my rose sleeve. +Ask why. + +_From the Japanese of Hide-Yoshi._ + + + +DRINK SONG + +The crows have wakened me +By cawing at the moon. +I pray that I shall not think of him; +I pray so intently +That he begins to fill my whole mind. +This is getting on my nerves; +I wonder if there is any of that wine left. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +A BOAT COMES IN + +Although I shall not see his face +For the low riding of the ship, +The three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak +Will be enough. +But what if I make a mistake +And call to the wrong man? +Or make no sign at all, +And it is he? + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +THE OPINION OF MEN + +My desires are like the white snows on Fuji +That grow but never melt. +I am becoming proud of my bad reputation; +And the more men say, +We cannot understand why she loves him, +The less I care. +I am sure that in a very short time +I shall give myself to him. + +_Japanese Street Song._ + + + +OLD SCENT OF THE PLUM-TREE + +Remembering what passed +Under the scent of the plum-tree, +I asked the plum-tree for tidings +Of that other. +Alas ... the cold moon of spring.... + +_From the Japanese of Fujiwara Ietaka. (1158-1237)._ + + + +AN ORANGE SLEEVE + +In the fifth month, +When orange-trees +Fill all the world with scent, +I think of the sleeve +Of a girl who loved me. + +_From the Japanese of Nari-hira._ + + + +INVITATION + +The chief flower +Of the plum-tree of this isle +Opens to-night.... +Come, singing to the moon, +In the third watch. + +_From the Japanese of a Courtesan of Nagasaki._ + + + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH + +In a life where the clocks +Are slow or fast, +It is a pleasant thing +To die together +As we are dying. + +_From the Japanese of the Wife of Bes-syo Ko-saburo Naga-haru, (sixteenth +century)._ + + + +GREEN FOOD FOR A QUEEN + +I was gathering +Leaves of the Wakana +In springtime. +Why did the snow fall +On my dress? + +_From the Japanese of the Mikado Ko-ko Ten-no, (ninth century)._ + + + +THE CUSHION + +Your arm should only be +A spring night's dream; +If I accepted it to rest my head upon +There would be rumours +And no delight. + +_From the Japanese of the daughter of Taira-no Tsu-gu-naka._ + + + +A SINGLE NIGHT + +Was one night, +And that a night +Without much sleep, +Enough to make me love +All the life long? + +_From the Japanese of the wife of the Mikado Sui-toka In +(twelfth century)._ + + + +AT A DANCE OF GIRLS + +Let the wind's breath +Blow in the glades of the clouds +Until they close; +So that the beauty of these girls +May not escape. + +_From the Japanese of So-dzyo Hend-zyo._ + + + +ALONE ONE NIGHT + +This night, +Long like the drooping feathers +Of the pheasant, +The chain of mountains, +Shall I sleep alone? + +_From the Japanese of Kaik-no Motto-no Hitomaro +(seventh and eighth centuries)._ + + + + +_KAFIRISTAN_ + + + +WALKING UP A HILL AT DAWN + +Here is the wind in the morning; +The kind red face of God +Is looking over the hill +We are climbing. + +To-morrow we are going to marry +And work and play together, +And laugh together at things +Which would not amuse our neighbours. + +_Song of Kafiristan._ + + + +PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE + +Your eyes are black like water-melon pips, +Your lips are red like the red flesh of water-melons, +Your loins are smooth like smooth-rind water-melons. + +You are more beautiful than my favourite among mares, +Your buttocks are sleeker and firmer, +Like her your movements are on legs of light steel. + +Come and sit at my hearth, and I will celebrate your coming; +I will choose from the hundred flocks of each a hundred, +Passing at the foot of the Himalaya, + +The two most silky and most beautiful great sheep. +We will go to the temple and sacrifice one of the two +To the god Pandu, that you may have many children; + +And I will kill the other and roast it whole, +My most fair rose-tree serving as a spit. +I will ask the prettiest eaters and the prettiest drinkers; + +And while they eat and drink greatly for three days, +I will wind silver rings upon your arms and feet +And hang a chain of river gold about your neck. + +_Popular Song of Kafiristan._ + + + + +_KAZACKS_ + + + +YOU DO NOT WANT ME? + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet Tamour-leng was maimed, +Going on crippled feet, +And he conquered the vast of the world. + +You do not want me, Zohrah. +Is it because I am maimed? +Yet I have one arm to fight for you, +One arm to crush you to my rough breast, +One arm to break men for you. + +It was to shield you from the Khargis +That I drag this stump in the long days. +It has been so with my women; +They would have made you a toy for heat. + +After their chief with his axe once swinging +Cut my left arm, that, severed, bloody, and dead, +Yet struggled on the ground trying to guard you, +I have had pain for long in my arm that's lost. + +Since the silk nets of your grape-lustrous eyes +Ensnared this heart that did not try to guard, +Ever I have a great pain in my heart that's lost. +You do not want me, Zohrah. + +_Kazack poem of the Chief Gahuan-Beyg (1850-1885)._ + + + + +_KOREA_ + + + +TEARS + +How can a heart play any more with life, + After it has found a woman and known tears? + +In vain I shut my windows against the moonlight; + I have estranged sleep. + +The flower of her face is growing in the shadow + Among warm and rustling leaves.... + +I see the sunlight on her house, + I see her curtains of vermilion silk.... + +Here is the almond-coloured dawn; + And there is dew on the petals of my night flower. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +THE DREAM + +I dreamed that I was touching her eyelids, and I awoke +To find her sleepy temples of rose jade + For one heart-beat.... + +Though the moonlight beats upon the sea, + There is no boat. + +_Lyric of Korea._ + + + +SEPARATION + +As water runs in the river, so runs time; +And ever my eyes are wasted of her presence. + +The red flowers of the second moon were yesterday; +To-day the earth has spots of blood, and there are no flowers. + +The wild geese were harnessed to the autumn moon; +They have come, I heard their crying, and they are gone. + +They have passed and given me no message; +I only hear the falling, falling noise of white rain. + +_Song of Korea._ + + + + +_KURDISTAN_ + + + +PARADISE + +Paradise, my darling, know that paradise, +The Prophet-given paradise after death, +Is far and very mysterious and most high; +My habits would be upset in such a place. + +Without impiety, I should be mortally weary +If I went there alone, without my wife; +An ugly crowding of inferior females, +What should I do with the houris? + +What should I do with those tall loaded fruit-trees, +Seeing I could not give the fruit to you? +What by the freshness of those blue streams, +Seeing my face reflected there alone? + +And it might be worse if you came with me, +For all of Allah's Chosen would desire you. +And if Mahomet threw his handkerchief +And took you up and loved you for himself? + +Eyes of my eyes, how could I then defend you? +I could not be at ease and watch him love you; +And if I mutinied against the Prophet, +He, being zealous to love you in his peace, + +Would rise and send me hurrying +Back by the sword-blade thinness of the bridge +From paradise to earth, and in the middle +Flick me down sideways to the fires of hell. + +My skin would cook and be renewed for ever +Where murderers were burning and renewing; +And evil souls, my only crime being love, +Would burn me and annoy me and destroy me. + +If I were there and you in paradise, +I could not even make my prayer to Allah +That in his justice he should give me back +My paradise. + +Let us love, therefore, on the earth together; +Our love is our garden, let us take great care, +Whisper and call pet names and kiss each other +To live our paradise as long as may be. + +_Love Ballad of Kurdistan._ + + + + +_LAOS_ + + + +MISADVENTURE + +Ever at the far side of the current +The fishes hurl and swim, +For pelicans and great birds +Watch and go fishing +On the bank-side. + +No man dare go alone +In the dim great forest, +But if I were as strong +As the green tiger +I would go. + +The holy swan on the sea +Wishes to pass over with his wings, +But I think it would be hard +To go so far. + +If you are still pure, +Tell me, darling; +If you are no longer +Clear like an evening star, +You are the heart of a great tree +Eaten by insects. +Why do you lower your eyes? +Why do you not look at me? + +When the blue elephant +Finds a lotus by the water-side +He takes it up and eats it. +Lemons are not sweeter than sugar. + +If I had the moon at home +I would open my house wide +To the four winds of the horizon, +So that the clouds that surround her +Should escape and be shaken away. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +KHAP-SALUNG + +Seeing that I adore you, +Scarf of golden flowers, +Why do you stay unmarried? +As the liana at a tree's foot +That quivers to wind it round, +So do I wait for you. I pray you +Do not detest me.... + +I have come to say farewell. +Farewell, scarf; +Garden Royal +Where none may enter, +Gaudy money +I may not spend. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + +THE HOLY SWAN + +Fair journey, O holy swan with gold wings; +O holy swan that I love, fair journey! +Carry this letter for me to the new land, +The place where my lover labours. +If it rains fly low beneath the trees, +If the sun is hot fly in the forest shadows; +If any ask you where you are going +Do not answer. +You who rise for so long a journey, +Avoid the roofs at the hour when the sun is red. +Carry this letter to the new land of my lover. +If he is faithful, give it to him; +If he has forgotten, read it to him only +And let the lightning burn it afterwards. + +_Song of the Love Nights of Laos._ + + + + +_MANCHURIA_ + + + +FIRE AND LOVE + +If you do not want your heart +Burnt at a small flame +Like a spitted sheep, +Fly the love of women. +Fire burns what it touches, +But love burns from afar. + +_Folk Song of Manchuria._ + + + +HEARTS OF WOMEN + +It is hard for a man to tell +The hidden thought in his friend's heart, +And the thought in a man's own heart +Is a thing darker. + +If you have seen a woman's heart +Bare to your eyes, +Go quickly away and never tell +What you have seen there. + +_Street Song of Manchuria._ + + + + +_PERSIA_ + + + +TO HIS LOVE INSTEAD OF A PROMISED PICTURE-BOOK + +_The greater and the lesser ills:_ + He waved his grey hand wearily + Back to the anger of the sea, +Then forward to the blue of hills. + +Out from the shattered barquenteen + The black frieze-coated sailors bore + Their dying despot to the shore +And wove a crazy palanquin. + +They found a valley where the rain + Had worn the fern-wood to a paste + And tiny streams came down in haste +To eastward of the mountain chain. + +And here was handiwork of Cretes, + And olives grew beside a stone, + And one slim phallos stood alone +Blasphemed at by the paroquets. + +Hard by a wall of basalt bars + The night came like a settling bird, + And here he wept and slept and stirred +Faintly beneath the turning stars. + +Then like a splash of saffron whey + That spills from out a bogwood bowl + Oozed from the mountain clefts the whole +Rich and reluctant light of day. + +And when he neither moved nor spoke + And did not heed the morning call, + They laid him underneath the wall +And wrapped him in a purple cloak. + +_From the Modern Persian._ + + + +TOO SHORT A NIGHT + +Lily of Streams lay by my side last night +And to my prayers gave answers of delight; +Day came before our fairy-tale was finished, +Because the tale was long, not short the night. + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +THE ROSES + +Roses are a wandering scent from heaven. +Rose-seller, why do you sell your roses? +For silver? But with the silver from your roses +What can you buy so precious as your roses? + +_From the Persian of Abu-Yshac (middle of the tenth century)._ + + + +I ASKED MY LOVE + +I asked my love: "Why do you make yourself so beautiful?" + "To please myself. +I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness; +The loved one and the lover and the love." + +_From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062)._ + + + +A REQUEST + +When I am cold and undesirous and my lids lie dead, +Come to watch by the body that loved you and say: +This is _Rondagui_, whom I killed and my heart regrets for ever. + +_From the Persian of Rondagui (tenth century)._ + + + +SEE YOU HAVE DANCERS + +See you have dancers and wine and a girl like one of the angels + (If they exist), +And find a clear stream singing near its birth and a bed of moss + (If moss exists), +For loving and singing to the dancers and drinking and forgetting hell + (If hell exists), +Because this is a pastime better than paradise + (If paradise exists). + +_From the Persian of Omar Khayyam (eleventh century)._ + + + + +_SIAM_ + + + +THE SIGHING HEART + +I made search for you all my life, and when I found you +There came a trouble on me, +So that it seemed my blood escaped +And my life ran back from me +And my heart slipped into you. +It seems, also, that you are the moon +And that I am at the top of a tree. +If I had wings I would spread them as far as you, +Dear bud, that will not open +Though the kisses of the holy bird knock at your petal door. + +_Song of Siam._ + + + + +_SYRIA_ + + + +HANDING OVER THE GUN + +Kill me if you will not love me. + Here are flints; +Ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard, + On the black powder. + +Only you must not shoot me through the head, + Nor touch my heart; +Because my head is full of the ways of you + And my heart is dead. + +_Song of Syria._ + + + + +_TATARS_ + + + +HONEY + +Young man, +If you try to eat honey +On the blade of a knife, +You will cut yourself. + +If you try to taste honey +On the kiss of a woman, +Taste with the lips only, +If not, young man, +You will bite your own heart. + +_Song of the Tatars._ + + + + +_THIBET_ + + + +THE LOVE OF THE ARCHER PRINCE + +The Khan. + +The son of the Khan. + +The love of the son of the Khan. + +The veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of + the Khan. + +The buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +The Archer Prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that + scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love + of the son of the Khan. + +And the girl married the Archer Prince whose love kissed the + buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the + veil of the love of the son of the Khan. + +_Street Song of Thibet._ + + + + +_TURKESTAN_ + + + +DISTICH + +Your face upon a drop of purple wine +Shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood. + +_From the Turkic of Hussein Baikrani._ + + + +THINGS SEEN IN A BATTLE + +Clear diamond heart, +I have been hunting death +Among the swords. + +But death abhors my shadow, +And I come back +Wounded with memories. + +Your eyes, +For steel is amorous of steel +And there are bright blue sparks. + +Your lips, +I see great bloody roses +Cut in white dead breasts. + +Your bed, +For I see wrestling bodies +Under the evening star. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + +HUNTER'S SONG + +Not a stone from my black sling +Ever misses anything, +But the arrows of your eye +Surer shoot and faster fly. + +Not one creature that I hit +Lingers on to know of it, +But the game that falls to love +Lives and lingers long enough. + +_From the Turkic._ + + + + +_TURKEY_ + + + +THE BATH + +My dreams are bubbles of cool light, +Sunbeams mingled in the light green +Waters of your bath. + +Through fretted spaces in the olive wood +My love adventures with the white sun. + +I dive into the ice-coloured shadows +Where the water is like light blue flowers +Dancing on mirrors of silver. + +The sun rolls under the waters of your bath +Like the body of a strong swimmer. + +And now you cool your feet, +Which have the look of apple flowers, +Under the water on the oval marble +Coloured like yellow roses. + +Your scarlet nipples +Waver under the green kisses of the water, +Flowers drowned in a mountain stream. + +_From the Modern Turkish._ + + + +DISTICH + +Lions tremble at my claws; +And I at a gazelle with eyes. + +_From the Turkish of Sultan Selim I._ + + + +A PROVERB + +Before you love, +Learn to run through snow +Leaving no footprint. + +_From the Turkish._ + + + +ENVOY IN AUTUMN + +Here are the doleful rains, +And one would say the sky is weeping +The death of the tolerable weather. + +Tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds +And we sit down indoors. + +Now is the time for poetry coloured with summer. +Let it fall on the white paper +As ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree. + +I will dip down my lips into my cup +Each time I wet my brush. + +And keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders, +For time escapes away from you and me +Quicker than birds. + +_From the Chinese of Tu Fu (712-770)._ + + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTES + + +THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS + +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. + +AFGHANISTAN + +SIKANDER, Alexander the Great. + +SHALIBAGH, the notable garden of Shalimar in Lahore, planted by Shah +Jahan in 1637. + +ABDEL QADIR GILANI, Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani, founder of the Qadirite +order of the Dervishes, twelfth century. + +ANNAM + +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 _A Lute of Jade_ which deals delightfully with Po-Chü-i; +and to Lafcadio Hearn's _Romance of the Milky Way._ + +ARABIC + +ANTAR, the hero Antar Ebn Cheddad Ebn Amr Corad, who lived in the late +sixth and early seventh centuries, owes his European reputation to +_Siret Antar_, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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.'" + +My most cordial thanks are due to The Bookworm, of the _Weekly +Dispatch_, for permission to make this long quotation from an article +headed, "The Strange Story of John Duncan, the Arab-Scot," which +appeared over his _nom de plume_ in the issue of that newspaper for +March 30, 1919. + +CHINA + +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 _Coloured Stars_. Mr. Wing is an +American-born Chinese and practises the profession of a valet. + +JAPAN + +THE CLOCKS OF DEATH: this poem is a _zi-sei_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +KAZACKS + +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. + +LAOS + +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. + +PERSIA + +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: + + I often wonder what the vintners buy + One-half so precious as the goods they sell. + +THIBET + +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." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Garden of Bright Waters +by Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + +This file should be named 8tgbw10.txt or 8tgbw10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8tgbw11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8tgbw10a.txt + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, +Tom Allen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/8tgbw10.zip b/old/8tgbw10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..367e413 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8tgbw10.zip diff --git a/old/8tgbw10h.htm b/old/8tgbw10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..623bd84 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8tgbw10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3323 @@ +<!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 Project Gutenberg eBook: 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 Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Garden of Bright Waters + One Hundred and Twenty Asiatic Love Poems + +Author: Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9920] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 31, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE 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 Translated by Edward Powys Mathers + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS *** + +This file should be named 8tgbw10h.htm or 8tgbw10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8tgbw11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8tgbw10ah.htm + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring, +Tom Allen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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