The Golden Threshold | Page 9

heart, the life within my life.

AUTUMN SONG
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, The sunset hangs on a cloud; A
golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and fluttering
leaves, The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling To my heart in the voice of the wind: My
heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering
leaves have gone, And why should I stay behind?

ALABASTER
Like this alabaster box whose art Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought With many a subtle and
exquisite thought.

Therein I treasure the spice and scent Of rich and passionate memories
blent Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove, Of song and sorrow
and life and love.

ECSTASY
Cover mine eyes, O my Love! Mine eyes that are weary of bliss As of
light that is poignant and strong O silence my lips with a kiss, My lips
that are weary of song!
Shelter my soul, O my love! My soul is bent low with the pain And the
burden of love, like the grace Of a flower that is smitten with rain: O
shelter my soul from thy face!

TO MY FAIRY FANCIES
Nay, no longer I may hold you, In my spirit's soft caresses, Nor like
lotus-leaves enfold you In the tangles of my tresses. Fairy fancies, fly
away To the white cloud-wildernesses, Fly away!
Nay, no longer ye may linger With your laughter-lighted faces, Now I
am a thought-worn singer In life's high and lonely places. Fairy fancies,
fly away, To bright wind-inwoven spaces, Fly away!

POEMS
ODE TO H.H. THE NIZAM OF HYDERABAD
(Presented at the Ramzan Durbar)
Deign, Prince, my tribute to receive, This lyric offering to your name,
Who round your jewelled scepter bind The lilies of a poet's fame;
Beneath whose sway concordant dwell The peoples whom your laws
embrace, In brotherhood of diverse creeds, And harmony of diverse
race:
The votaries of the Prophet's faith, Of whom you are the crown and
chief And they, who bear on Vedic brows Their mystic symbols of
belief;
And they, who worshipping the sun, Fled o'er the old Iranian sea; And
they, who bow to Him who trod The midnight waves of Galilee.
Sweet, sumptuous fables of Baghdad The splendours of your court
recall, The torches of a Thousand Nights Blaze through a single festival;
And Saki-singers down the streets, Pour for us, in a stream divine,

From goblets of your love-ghazals The rapture of your Sufi wine.
Prince, where your radiant cities smile, Grim hills their sombre vigils
keep, Your ancient forests hoard and hold The legends of their
centuried sleep; Your birds of peace white-pinioned float O'er ruined
fort and storied plain, Your faithful stewards sleepless guard The
harvests of your gold and grain.
God give you joy, God give you grace To shield the truth and smite the
wrong, To honour Virtue, Valour, Worth. To cherish faith and foster
song. So may the lustre of your days Outshine the deeds Firdusi sung,
Your name within a nation's prayer, Your music on a nation's tongue.

LEILI
The serpents are asleep among the poppies, The fireflies light the
soundless panther's way To tangled paths where shy gazelles are
straying, And parrot-plumes outshine the dying day. O soft! the
lotus-buds upon the stream Are stirring like sweet maidens when they
dream.
A caste-mark on the azure brows of Heaven, The golden moon burns
sacred, solemn, bright The winds are dancing in the forest-temple, And
swooning at the holy feet of Night. Hush! in the silence mystic voices
sing And make the gods their incense-offering.

IN THE FOREST
Here, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead, Here in this
wood let us fashion a funeral pyre Of fallen white petals and leaves that
are mellow and red, Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of
fire.
We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne The
heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest, Let us scatter
their ashes away, for a while let us mourn; We will rest, O my heart, till
the shadows are gray in the west.
But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again Into the war
of the world and the strife of the throng; Let us rise, O my heart, let us
gather the dreams that remain, We will conquer the sorrow of life with
the sorrow of song.

PAST AND FUTURE
THE NEW HATH COME AND NOW THE OLD RETIRES: And so
the past becomes a mountain-cell, Where lone, apart, old
hermit-memories dwell In consecrated calm,