The Gardener | Page 8

throne and rule you with my tyranny
of love, when like a goddess I grant you my favour, bear with my pride,
beloved, and forgive me my joy.
34
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I have watched all
night, and now my eyes are heavy with sleep. I fear lest I lose you
when I am sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I start up and stretch my hands to touch you. I ask myself, "Is it a
dream?"
Could I but entangle your feet with my heart and hold them

fast to my breast!
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
35
Lest I should know you too easily, you play with me.
You blind me
with flashes of laughter to hide your tears.
I know, I know your art.

You never say the word you would.
Lest I should not prize you, you elude me in a thousand ways. Lest I
should confuse you with the crowd, you stand aside.
I know, I know
your art,
You never walk the path you would.
Your claim is more than that of others, that is why you are silent.

With playful carelessness you avoid my gifts.
I know, I know your art,

You never will take what you would.
36
He whispered, "My love, raise your eyes."
I sharply chid him, and
said "Go!"; but he did not stir.
He stood before me and held both my
hands. I said, "Leave me!"; but he did not go.
He brought his face near my ear. I glanced at him and said, "What a
shame!"; but he did not move.
His lips touched my cheek. I trembled
and said, "You dare too much"; but he had no shame.
He put a flower in my hair. I said, "It is useless!"; but he stood
unmoved.
He took the garland from my neck and went away. I weep
and ask my heart, "Why does he not come back?"
37
Would you put your wreath of fresh flowers on my neck, fair one? But
you must know that the one wreath that I had woven is for the many,
for those who are seen in glimpses, or dwell in lands unexplored, or
live in poets' songs.

It is too late to ask my heart in return for yours.
There was a time
when my life was like a bud, all its perfume was stored in its core.

Now it is squandered far and wide.
Who knows the enchantment that
can gather and shut it up again? My heart is not mine to give to one
only, it is given to the many.
38
My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his mind.

Alas, I was not careful, and it struck your ringing anklets and came
to grief.
It broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.
All my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the
laughing
waves and soaked in tears and sank.
You must make this loss good to
me, my love.
If my claims to immortal fame after death are shattered,
make me immortal while I live.
And I will not mourn for my loss nor
blame you.
39
I try to weave a wreath all the morning, but the flowers slip and they
drop out.
You sit there watching me in secret through the corner of
your prying eyes.
Ask those eyes, darkly planning mischief, whose
fault it was.
I try to sing a song, but in vain.
A hidden smile trembles on your lips,
ask of it the reason of my failure.
Let your smiling lips say on oath
how my voice lost itself in silence like a drunken bee in the lotus.
It is evening, and the time for the flowers to close their
petals.
Give
me leave to sit by your side, and bid my lips to do the work that can be
done in silence and in the dim light of stars.
40
An unbelieving smile flits on your eyes when I come to you to take my
leave.
I have done it so often that you think I will soon return.
To

tell you the truth I have the same doubt in my mind.
For the spring
days come again time after time; the full moon takes leave and comes
on another visit, the flowers come again and blush upon their branches
year after year, and it is likely that I take my leave only to come to you
again.
But keep the illusion awhile; do not send it away with ungentle
haste.
When I say I leave you for all time, accept it as true, and let a
mist of tears for one moment deepen the dark rim of your eyes. Then
smile as archly as you like when I come again.
41
I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you; but I dare not,
for