Last Poems | Page 2

athirst for His waving hair??Nay, passion thou never couldst understand,
Life's heights and depths thou wouldst never dare.?The Great Things left thee untouched, unmoved,
The Lesser Things had thy constant care.?Ah, what hast thou done with the Lover I loved,
Who found me wanting, and thee so fair?
Ahi, Yasmini, He found her fair!
Nay, nay, the greatest of all was thine;
The love of the One whom I craved for so,?But much I doubt if thou couldst divine
The Grace and Glory of Love, or know?The worth of the One whom thine arms embraced.
I may misjudge thee, but who can tell??So hard it is, for the one displaced,
To weigh the worth of a rival's spell.
Ahi, Yasmini, thy rival's spell!
And Thou, whom I loved: have the seasons brought
That fair content, which allured Thee so??Is it all that Thy delicate fancy wrought?
Yasmini wonders; she may not know.?Yet never the Stars desert the sky,
To fade away in the desolate Dawn,?But Yasmini watches their glory die,
And mourns for her own Bright Star withdrawn.
Ahi, Yasmini, the lonely dawn!
Ah, never the lingering gold dies down
In a sunset flare of resplendent light,?And never the palm-tree's feathery crown
Uprears itself to the shadowy night,?But Yasmini thinks of those evenings past,
When she prayed the glow of the glimmering West?To vanish quickly, that night, at last,
Might bring Thee back to her waiting breast.
Ahi, Yasmini, how sweet that rest!
Yet I would not say that I always weep;
The force, that made such a desperate thing?Of my love for Thee, has not fallen asleep,
The blood still leaps, and the senses sing,?While other passion has oft availed.
(Other Love--Ah, my One, forgive!--)?To aid, when Churus and Opium failed;--
I could not suffer so much and live.
Ahi, Yasmini, who had to live!
Nay, why should I say "Forgive" to Thee?
To whom my lovers and I are naught,?Who granted some passionate nights to me,
Then rose and left me with never a thought!?And yet, Ah, yet, for those Nights that Were,
Thy passive limbs and thy loose loved hair,?I would pay, as I have paid, all these days,
With the love that kills and the thought that slays.
Ahi, Yasmini, thy youth it slays!
The youthful widow, with shaven hair,
Whose senses ache for the love of a man,?The young Priest, knowing that women are fair,
Who stems his longing as best he can,?These suffer not as I suffer for Thee;
For the Soul desires what the senses crave,?There will never be pleasure or peace for me,
Since He who wounded, alone could save.
Ahi, Yasmini, He will not save!
The torchlight flares, and the lovers lean
Towards Yasmini, with yearning eyes,?Who dances, wondering what they mean,
And gives cold kisses, and scant replies.?They talk of Love, she withholds the name,--
(Love came to her as a Flame of Fire!)?From things that are only a weary shame;
Trivial Vanity;--light Desire.
Ahi, Yasmini, the light Desire!
Yasmini bends to the praise of men,
And looks in the mirror, upon her hand,[1]?To curse the beauty that failed her then--
Ah, none of her lovers can understand!?How her whole life hung on that beauty's power,
The spell that waned at the final test,?The charm that paled in the vital hour,--
Which won so many,--yet lost the best!
Ahi, Yasmini, who lost the best!
She leaves the dancing to reach the roof,
With the lover who claims the passing hour,?Her lips are his, but her eyes aloof
While the starlight falls in a silver shower.?Let him take what pleasure, what love, he may,
He, too, will suffer e'er life be spent,--?But Yasmini's soul has wandered away
To join the Lover, who came,--and went!
Ahi, Yasmini, He came,--and went!
[1] Indian women wear a small mirror in a ring on their thumbs.
Among the Rice Fields
She was fair as a Passion-flower,
(But little of love he knew.)?Her lucent eyes were like amber wine,
And her eyelids stained with blue.
He called them the Gates of Fair Desire,
And the Lakes where Beauty lay,?But I looked into them once, and saw
The eyes of Beasts of Prey.
He praised her teeth, that were small and white
As lilies upon his lawn,?While I remembered a tiger's fangs
That met in a speckled fawn.
She had her way; a lover the more,
And I had a friend the less.?For long there was nothing to do but wait
And suffer his happiness.
But now I shall choose the sharpest Kriss
And nestle it in her breast,?For dead, he is drifting down to sea,
And his own hand wrought his rest
The Bride
Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers,
Jasmin, Hibiscus, vermillion and white,?This is the day, and the Hour of Hours,
Bring forth the Bride for her Lover's delight.?Maidens no more, as a maiden shall claim her,
Near, in his Mystery, draweth Desire.?Who, if she waver a moment, shall blame her?
She is a flower, and love is a fire.
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Give her the anklets, the rings and the necklace,
Darken her eyelids with delicate Art,?Heighten the beauty, so youthful and fleckless,
By the Gods favoured, oh, Bridegroom thou art!?Twine in thy fingers her fingers so slender,
Circle together the Mystical Fire,?Bridegroom,--a whisper--be gentle and