Sonnets | Page 4

under
such arbitrary regulations as the octave.

There are writers who keep all the rules, and yet leave their readers
cold; and others who are technically less correct, but in whom the
vigour and intensity of emotion is swiftly felt and silences adverse
criticism. The ideal is to combine deep and exalted feeling with perfect
expression, and produce a whole which goes to the heart like a
beautiful piece of music, and satisfies the mind--like one of those
ancient Greek gems which, in a small space, presents engraved images
symbolic of sublime ideas vast as the universe.
The Nawab Nizamat Jung has written in English several sonnets which
we should admire even if English were his native language. But if any
of us would like to form some estimate of the difficulties he has
surmounted, let us sit down and try to express in a sonnet in _any_
foreign language our own thoughts and beliefs. We shall then the better
appreciate what he has achieved.
As, however, while the Great War lasts, few of us have leisure for
literary experiments, it will perhaps be best to read these Sonnets
primarily for their soul and spirit. In melody and expression they are of
varying degrees of merit and completeness, but in the inspiring ideal
they consistently embody they rise to heights which have been scaled
only by the noblest. In tone and temper--as already said--they are akin
to the Sonnets to Vittoria Colonna by Michelangelo,--of whom it was
written by one who knew him well, "_Though I have held such long
intercourse with him I have never heard from his mouth a word, that
was not most honourable.... In him there are no base thoughts.... He
loves not only human beauty, but everything that is beautiful and
exquisite in its own kind,--marvelling at it with a wonderful
admiration_."
Here we see defined the temperament of the heroic poet, that inner
nobility and exaltation without which mere technical skill can avail
little in moving and holding the hearts of men.
This note on the structure of the Sonnet would fail in its purpose if it
distracted the reader from the spirit behind the form;--for the spirit is
the life,--and few who read these Sonnets will deny that the spirit of
Nizamat Jung is that of the true poet, ever striving to look beyond

ephemeral sorrows up to the Eternal Beauty--now hidden behind a veil,
but some day to be revealed in all its splendour and completeness.
R.C.F.
_October 6, 1917_.
SONNETS
PROLOGUE
As one who wanders lone and wearily
Through desert tracts of
Silence and of Night,
Pining for Lovers keen utterance and for light,

And chasing shadowy forms that mock and flee,
My soul was
wandering through Eternity,
Seeking, within the depth and on the
height
Of Being, one with whom it might unite
In life and love and
immortality;
When lo! she stood before me, whom I'd sought,
With dying hope,
through life's decaying years--
A form, a spirit, human yet divine.

Love gave her eyes the light of heav'n, and taught
Her lips the mystic
music of the spheres.
Our beings met,--I felt her soul in mine;
I
REBIRTH
To me no mortal but a spirit blest,
A Light-girt messenger of Love art
thou--
The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow.
The thrice-pure fire
of Love within thy breast!
Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest,

As God's fulfilment of the purest vow
Love's heart e'er made--thou
com'st to show e'en _now_
The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best!
I clasp thy feet,--O fold me in thy wings,
And place thy pure white
hands upon my head,
And breathe, O breathe, thy love-breath o'er
mine eyes
Till, like the flame that from dark ashes springs,
My

chastened spirit, from a self that's dead,
Upon the wings of Love shall
heav'nward rise.
II
THE CROWN OF LIFE
I know not what Love is,--a memory
Of Heav'n once known,--a
yearning for some goal
That shines afar,--a dream that doth control

The spirit, shadowing forth what is to be.
But this I know, my heart
hath found in thee
The crown of life, the glory of the soul,
The
healing of all strife, the making whole
Of my imperfect being,--yea,
of me!
For to mine eyes thine eyes, through Love, reveal
The smile of God;
to me God's healing breath
Comes through thy hallowed lips whose
pray'r is Love.
Thy touch gives life! And oh, let me but feel
Thy
hovering hand my closing eyes above,--
Then, then, my soul will
triumph over Death.
III
BEFORE THE THRONE
When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes--
Eyes heavy-laden with
the soul's desire,
Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire--
I
have a vision of Love's Paradise.
Gazing, my trancèd spirit
straightway flies
Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire;
I hear
the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire
Around Immortal Love
triumphant rise.
And there I kneel before th' eternal throne
Of Love, whose light
conceals him,--there I see,
Veiled in his sacred light,