Indias Love Lyrics | Page 9

gay!
"He rose from dreams of war's alarms,
To make his daggers keen and
bright,
Desiring, in my very arms,
The fiercer rapture of the fight!
"He left me soon; too soon, and sought
The stronger, earlier love
again.
News reached me from the Cabul Court,
Afterwards nothing;
doubtless slain.
"Doubtless his brilliant, haggard eyes,
Long since took leave of life
and light,
And those lithe limbs I used to prize
Feasted the jackal
and the kite.
"But the most loved! his sixteen years
Shone in his cheeks'

transparent red.
My kisses were his first: my tears
Fell on his face
when he was dead.
"He died, he died, I speak the truth,
Though light love leave his
memory dim,
He was the Lover of my Youth
And all my youth
went down with him.
"For passion ebbs and passion flows,
But under every new caress

The riven heart more keenly knows
Its own inviolate faithfulness.
"Our Gods are kind and still deem fit
As in old days, with those to lie,

Whose silent hearths are yet unlit
By the soft light of infancy.
"Therefore, one strange, mysterious night
Alone within the Temple
shade,
Recipient of a God's delight
I lay enraptured, unafraid.
"Also to me the boon was given,
But mourning quickly followed
mirth,
My son, whose father stooped from Heaven,
Died in the
moment of his birth.
"When from the war beyond the seas
The reckless Lancers home
returned,
Their spoils were laid across my knees
About my lips
their kisses burned.
"Back from the Comradeship of Death,
Free from the Friendship of
the Sword,
With brilliant eyes and famished breath
They came to
me for their reward.
"Why do I tell you all these things,
Baring my life to you, unsought?

When Passion folds his wearied wings
Sleep should be follower,
never Thought.
"Ay, let us sleep. The window pane
Grows pale against the purple
sky.
The dawn is with us once again,
The dawn; which always
means good-bye."

Within her little trellised room, beside the palm-fringed sea, She
wakeful in the scented gloom, spoke of her youth to me.
Ojira, to Her Lover
I am waiting in the desert, looking out towards the sunset, And
counting every moment till we meet.
I am waiting by the marshes and
I tremble and I listen
Till the soft sands thrill beneath your coming
feet.
Till I see you, tall and slender, standing clear against the skyline A
graceful shade across the lingering red,
While your hair the breezes
ruffle, turns to silver in the twilight, And makes a fair faint aureole
round your head.
Far away towards the sunset I can see a narrow river,
That unwinds
itself in red tranquillity;
I can hear its rippled meeting, and the gurgle
of its greeting, As it mingles with the loved and long sought sea.
In the purple sky above me showing dark against the starlight, Long
wavering flights of homeward birds fly low,
They cry each one to the
other, and their weird and wistful calling, Makes most melancholy
music as they go.
Oh, my dearest hasten, hasten! It is lonely here. Already Have I heard
the jackals' first assembling cry,
And among the purple shadows of
the mangroves and the marshes Fitful echoes of their footfalls passing
by.
Ah, come soon! my arms are empty, and so weary for your beauty, I am
thirsty for the music of your voice.
Come to make the marshes joyous
with the sweetness of your presence, Let your nearing feet bid all the
sands rejoice!
My hands, my lips are feverish with the longing and the waiting And
no softness of the twilight soothes their heat,
Till I see your radiant
eyes, shining stars beneath the starlight, Till I kiss the slender coolness

of your feet.
Ah, loveliest, most reluctant, when you lay yourself beside me All the
planets reel around me--fade away,
And the sands grow dim,
uncertain,--I stretch out my hands towards you While I try to speak but
know not what I say!
I am faint with love and longing, and my burning eyes are gazing
Where the furtive Jackals wage their famished strife,
Oh, your
shadow on the mangroves! and your step upon the sandhills,-- This is
the loveliest evening of my Life!
Thoughts: Mahomed Akram
If some day this body of mine were burned
(It found no favour alas!
with you)
And the ashes scattered abroad, unurned,
Would Love die
also, would Thought die too?
But who can answer, or who can trust,
No dreams would harry the
windblown dust?
Were I laid away in the furrows deep
Secure from jackal and passing
plough,
Would your eyes not follow me still through sleep
Torment
me then as they torture now?
Would you ever have loved me, Golden Eyes,
Had I done aught
better or otherwise?
Was I overspeechful, or did you yearn
When I sat silent, for songs or
speech?
Ah, Beloved, I had been so apt to learn,
So apt, had you
only cared to teach.
But time for silence and song is done,
You wanted nothing, my
Golden Sun!
What should you want of a waning star?
That drifts in its