with thee, O Pain!
Life will not come with thee, O Beauty!
The fires of hell are but a taper’s flame compared to this.
Thy guest, O Bed of Brass,
Looks on thee with a yearning glance.
And yet her soul, bearing the torch of Pain,
Is searching all the worlds for Death.
Three Golden Threads
(After de Lisle.)
Like yonder swallow, I would soar away—
Above the sea, far from this buzzing mart;
But how can I? A cruel, little fay
Has fettered with three golden threads my heart.
Her honeyed tongue the one; her eyes the other;
The third her lips; and that completes her art.
No fruits from other gardens can I gather,
For she has tied with golden threads my heart.
O, how I would asunder rend my chain,
And from the tears and pangs of love depart;
Ah, no! ’tis better that I die in pain
Than break the golden threads of my poor heart.
Independent Blossoms
When the spring boughs were told
Soon the rose will unfold
Herself in the bower
Of which she is queen,
Their blossoms, beguiling
The sad leaves, said smiling:
“No slaves to a flower
Have we ever been.”
Our lords are the birds.
And they love not in words;
They sing when we smile
And sob when we fall;
Her lord is the liar—
The thief or the buyer—
Who smells her the while
She lives, and that’s all.
The God of My Goddess
The old gods and their slaves I’ve deserted;
The new gods I’ve shunned at first sight;
And my god is the god of the goddess
That presides at my feast of delight.
But once, when the dark moment lingered,
I questioned the god she adores;
To his throne I implored her to lead me,
And, behold! I’m the god she implores.
A Peasant’s Song
O, thou, who loved me once,
From thy Pagoda glance;
Shoot down a poisoned lance:
All’s well that comes from thee.
Look back, look down once more;
Dear was to thee this shore;
I see thee nevermore
Beneath the olive tree.
Remains my station low,
Whilst thou dost greater grow;
Ah, fate hath struck the blow
That parted thee and me.
How can I bear my fate,
How can I loveless wait
In this most sorry state,
When thou art far and free?
Far from the soul that swore
On love’s abysmal door
To cling forevermore
To none on earth but thee;
Free from the sacred plight
Which, to dispel the night,
Thou madest, when I quite
Fell near thy bended knee.
Dost thou not still remember
Love’s May and Love’s December?
Both burned their sacred ember
In our sweet company.
Dost hear the echoes fall
Within thy gilded hall?
Dost thou not ever recall
The day thou wert like me?
When all thy gardens bloom,
Look out into the gloom;
There does the flame consume
Thy budless lilac tree.
There often thou didst play
A-mindless of the day
When soul to soul would say:
“No more of thee and me.”
And when withers thy rose,
Throw to the wind that blows
This way a leaf; who knows
What therein I can see.
And till my course is run
I’ll count them one by one—
These leaves; and may the sun
Of joy ne’er set on thee.
Her First Sorrow
’T is but a score of hours when he didst swear
My sorrow and my joy to share,
Despite the fates, fore’er;
But now he’s gone to cash again his lie;
Others his shame with me will wear,
Why should I die?
Last night his lips my very feet didst burn;
His kisses dropt, my love to earn,
Whichever way he’d turn;
But now he’s gone another soul to rob.
Another heart to lure and spurn,
Why should I sob?
He did not kiss me when he said good-bye;
I let him go, not asking why,
Nor do I for him sigh;
He’s gone another virgin breast to tear,
He’s gone on other lips to die,
Why should I care?
A Nocturn
Upon the face of darkness beams my soul—
Nearby, behind the curtains of my sight;
And ’round it weary waves of wonder roll—
Sad seas of color o’er dead seas of light:
Here is no Space, no Time—nor day nor night—
Here is the boundless, undiminished Whole—
Here is my soul.
Here is no love that hides beneath its shoal
The sandix that can redden a sea of years;
Here is no lust that lies to Beauty’s mole
And draws from eyes of flint a flood of tears;
Here is no disenchantment and no fears—
No blasted hopes, no jaunty joy, no dole—
Here is my soul.
Now lost in clay and water; now the Whole
Is lost within me: sea and earth and sky
I dismiss from my presence, as I roll
My lids and lo, the lord of night am I.
Into the airless wilderness I fly;
Here is no vain desire, no galling goal—
Here is my soul.
In Eternity, shod with the hoary noul
Of deathless Death—in dim and shimmering shades
Of soilless vales that bosom and cajole
The crystal flowers dropping from cloud-cascades;
Here in the grove of myriad colonnades
Of jet and pearl and amber I now stroll—
Here is my soul.
Saada
Long hast thou suffered, sister of my heart,
Still thou art
Fair to see;
Thy pains thou entertainest with thy song,
But how long
Will this be?
The seasons all have come and gone, my dear,
But thy cheer
Still abides.
I ask which of thy moan or song is best
And thou sayst:
“God decides.”
I feel the ebbing of the undertone
Of thy moan
In thy song;
How long will tears and irony compete
For thee, Sweet,
O, how long?
When wilt thou, Baby dear, with nimble feet,
Run to greet
Me at the door?
When wilt thou, Saada, walk again with me
Near the sea,
As before?
O sister, how I wish to see thee run,
In the sun,
On the sands!
The singing breakers and the smiling beach
To thee reach
Out their hands.
The light of day is longing for thy face
And the grace
Of thy form;
O how I wish to see thee, Noor-ul-Ain
Caught again
In the storm!
Stolen Salvias
O, bleeding blossoms, tell,
