Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson)

Who does not feel desire unending To solace through his daily strife, With some mysterious Mental Blending,

Since, Oh, Beloved, you are not even faithful To me, who loved you so, for one short night, For one brief space of darkness, though my absence

She was fair as a Passion-flower, (But little of love he knew.) Her lucent eyes were like amber wine,

Out I came from the dancing-place: The night-wind met me face to face - A wind off the harbour, cold and keen,

Deep in the jungle vast and dim, That knew not a white man's feet, I smelt the odour of sun-warmed fur,

The tremulous morning is breaking Against the white waste of the sky, And hundreds of birds are awaking

We have left Gul Kach behind us, Are marching on Apozai, - Where pleasure and rest are waiting

I, who of lighter love wrote many a verse, Made public never words inspired by thee, Lest strangers' lips should carelessly rehearse

She is glad to receive your turquoise ring, Dear and dark-eyed Lover of mine! I, to have given you everything:

Oh, come, Beloved, before my beauty fades, Pity the sorrow of my loneliness. I am a Rosebush that the Cypress shades,

Who says I wrong thee, my half-opened rose? Little he knows of thee or me, or love. - I am so tender of thy fragile youth,

Death and Famine on every side And never a sign of rain, The bones of those who have starved and died

Far in the Further East the skilful craftsman Fashioned this fancy for the West's delight. This rose and azure Dragon, crouching softly

Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you Against my heart for any length of days. I had no loveliness, alas, to hold you,

Just as the dawn of Love was breaking Across the weary world of grey, Just as my life once more was waking

The rice-birds fly so white, so silver white, The velvet rice-flats lie so emerald green, My heart inhales, with sorrowful delight,

The evening sky was as green as Jade, As Emerald turf by Lotus lake, Behind the Kafila far she strayed,

I see your red-gold hair and know How white the hidden skin must be, Though sun-kissed face and fingers show

Oh Amber Eyes, oh Golden Eyes! Oh Eyes so softly gay! Wherein swift fancies fall and rise,

On the wooden deck of the wooden Junk, silent, alone, we lie, With silver foam about the bow, and a silver moon in the sky: A glimmer of dimmer silver here, from the anklets round your feet,

Along the hot and endless road, Calm and erect, with haggard eyes, The prisoner bore his fetters' load

I arise and go down to the River, and currents that come from the sea, Still fresh with the salt of the ocean, are lovely and precious to me, The waters are silver and silent, except where the kingfisher dips,

Although my life, which thou hast scarred and shaken, Retains awhile some influence of thee, As shells, by faithless waves long since forsaken,

The fields are full of Poppies, and the skies are very blue, By the Temple in the coppice, I wait, Beloved, for you. The level land is sunny, and the errant air is gay,

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar, Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell? Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway, far,

You never loved me, and yet to save me, One unforgetable night you gave me Such chill embraces as the snow-covered heights

The fires that burn on all the hills Light up the landscape grey, The arid desert land distills

(Translation by Moolchand) Be still, my heart, and listen, For sweet and yet acute

At Kotri, by the river, when the evening's sun is low, The waving palm trees quiver, the golden waters glow, The shining ripples shiver, descending to the sea;

Why above others was I so blessed And honoured? to be chosen one To hold you, sleeping, against my breast,

"This is no time for saying 'no'" Were thy last words to me, And yet my lips refused the kiss

Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel, Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword, Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,

This passion is but an ember Of a Sun, of a Fire, long set; I could not live and remember,

Listen, Beloved, the Casurinas quiver, Each tassel prays the wind to set it free, Hark to the frantic sobbing of the river,

After the Hazara War I lie alone beneath the Almond blossoms, Where we two lay together in the spring,

There were Roses in the hedges, and Sunshine in the sky, Red Lilies in the sedges, where the water rippled by, A thousand Bulbuls singing, oh, how jubilant they were,

He lurks among the reeds, beside the marsh, Red oleanders twisted in His hair, His eyes are haggard and His lips are harsh,

The Stars await, serene and white, The unarisen moon; Oh, come and stay with me to-night,

Bridegroom I give you my house and my lands, all golden with harvest; My sword, my shield, and my jewels, the spoils of my strife,

How I loved you in your sleep, With the starlight on your hair! The touch of your lips was sweet,

The sins of Youth are hardly sins, So frank they are and free. 'T is but when Middle-age begins

Fate has given me many a gift To which men most aspire, Lovely, precious and costly things,

My paramour was loneliness And lying by the sea, Soft songs of sorrow and distress

Nay, not to-night; - the slow, sad rain is falling Sorrowful tears, beneath a grieving sky, Far off a famished jackal, faintly calling,

As those who eat a Luscious Fruit, sunbaked, Full of sweet juice, with zest, until they find It finished, and their appetite unslaked,

Oh, unforgotten and only lover, Many years have swept us apart, But none of the long dividing seasons

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

Oh, youthful bearer of my palanquin, Thy glossy hair lies loosened on thy neck, The "tears of labour" gem thy velvet skin,

Upon the City Ramparts, lit up by sunset gleam, The Blue eyes that conquer, meet the Darker eyes that dream. The Dark eyes, so Eastern, and the Blue eyes from the West,

Love, let me thank you for this! Now we have drifted apart, Wandered away from the sea, -

You are all that is lovely and light, Aziza whom I adore, And, waking, after the night,

Alas! alas! this wasted Night With all its Jasmin-scented air, Its thousand stars, serenely bright!

I shall never forget you, never.    Never escape Your memory woven about the beautiful things of life. The sudden Thought of your Face is like a Wound

Give me your self one hour; I do not crave For any love, or even thought, of me. Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave

The Desert is parched in the burning sun And the grass is scorched and white. But the sand is passed, and the march is done,

Softly the feathery Palm-trees fade in the violet Distance, Faintly the lingering light touches the edge of the sea, Sadly the Music of Waves, drifts, faint as an Anthem's insistence,

Alone, I wait, till her twilight gate The Night slips quietly through, With shadow and gloom, and purple bloom,

His back is bent and his lips are blue, Shivering out in the wet: "Here's a florin, my man, for you,

A little breeze blew over the sea, And it came from far away, Across the fields of millet and rice,

Against the planks of the cabin side, (So slight a thing between them and me,) The great waves thundered and throbbed and sighed,

How much I loved that way you had Of smiling most, when very sad, A smile which carried tender hints

Throb, throb, throb, Far away in the blue transparent Night, On the outer horizon of a dreaming consciousness,

This was the tale Sher Afzul told to me, While the spent camels bubbled on their knees, And ruddy camp-fires twinkled through the gloom

(While the procession passed at Ramesram) Nearer and nearer cometh the car Where the Golden Goddess towers,

As one may sip a Stranger's Bowl You gave yourself but not your soul. I wonder, now that time has passed,

"Is it safe to lie so lonely when the summer twilight closes No companion maidens, only you asleep among the roses? "Thirteen, fourteen years you number, and your hair is soft and scented,

Just at the time when Jasmins bloom, most sweetly in the summer weather, Lost in the scented Jungle gloom, one sultry night we spent together We, Love and Night, together blent, a Trinity of tranced content.

Had I been young I could have claimed to fold thee For many days against my eager breast; But, as things are, how can I hope to hold thee

Now is the season of my youth, Not thus shall I always be, Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young,

Dear is my inlaid sword; across the Border It brought me much reward; dear is my Mistress, The jewelled treasure of an amorous hour.

Rose-colour Rose Pink am I, the colour gleams and glows In many a flower; her lips, those tender doors

There is one God: Mahomed his Prophet.    Had I his power I would take the topmost peaks of the snow-clad Himalayas, And would range them around your dwelling, during the heats of summer,

Heart, my heart, thou hast found thy home! From gloom and sorrow thou hast come forth, Thou who wast foolish, and sought to roam

Beauty, the Gift of Gifts, I give to thee. Pleasure and love shall spring around thy feet As through the lake the lotuses arise

O beautiful Stars, when you see me go Hither and thither, in search of love, Do you think me faithless, who gleam and glow

He loved the Plant with a keen delight, A passionate fervour, strange to see, Tended it ardently, day and night,

They lay the slender body down With all its wealth of wetted hair, Only a daughter of the town,

"And when the Summer Heat is great, And every hour intense, The Moghra, with its subtle flowers,

Oh, straight, white road that runs to meet, Across green fields, the blue green sea, You knew the little weary feet

Drifting, drifting down the River, Tawny current and foam-flecked tide, Sorrowful songs of lonely boatmen,

My life was like an Aloe flower, beneath an orient sky, Your sunshine touched it for an hour; it blossomed but to die. Torn up, cast out, on rubbish heaps where red flames work their will

Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers, Jasmin, Hibiscus, vermillion and white, This is the day, and the Hour of Hours,

"The Atlas summits were veiled in purple gloom, But a golden moon above rose clear and free. The cactus thicket was ruddy with scarlet bloom

The sun was hot on the tamarind trees, Their shadows shrivelled and shrank. No coolness came on the off-shore breeze

There are no days for me any more, for the dawn is dark with tears, There is no rest for me any more, for the night is thick with fears. There are no flowers nor any fruit, for the sorrowful locusts came,

As o'er the vessel's side she leant, She saw the swimmer in the sea With eager eyes on her intent,

Ah, my lord, are the tidings true, That thy mother's jewels are shapen anew? I hear that a bride has chosen been,

The Desert sands are heated, parched and dreary, The tigers rend alive their quivering prey In the near Jungle; here the kites rise, weary,

The daylight is dying, The Flying fox flying, Amber and amethyst burn in the sky.

Dear little Hut by the rice-fields circled, That cocoa-nuts shade above. I hear the voices of children singing,

Ah, the cool silence of the shaded hours, The scent and colour of the jungle flowers! Thou art one of the jungle flowers, strange and fierce and fair,

Ah, what hast thou done with that Lover of mine? The Lover who only cared for thee? Mine for a handful of nights, and thine

Oh, Masters, you who rule the world, Will you not wait with me awhile, When swords are sheathed and sails are furled,

I cast the Net of Memory, Man's torment and delight, Over the level Sands of Youth

How one loves them These wide horizons; whether Desert or Sea, - Vague and vast and infinite; faintly clear -

I was sold to the Rao of Ilore, Slender and tall was he. When his litter carried him down the street

This man has taken my Husband's life And laid my Brethren low, No sister indeed, were I, no wife,

The Rice was under water, and the land was scourged with rain, The nights were desolation, and the day was born in pain. Ah, the famine and the fever and the cruel, swollen streams,

I slept upon the Rice-boat That, reef protected, lay At anchor, where the palm-trees

The singer only sang the Joy of Life, For all too well, alas! the singer knew How hard the daily toil, how keen the strife,

Whether I loved you who shall say? Whether I drifted down your way In the endless River of Chance and Change,

You will be mine; those lightly dancing feet, Falling as softly on the careless street As the wind-loosened petals of a flower,

Dost thou hear the tom-toms throbbing, Like a lonely lover sobbing For the beauty that is robbing him of all his life's delight?

Sad is the Evening: all the level sand Lies left and lonely, while the restless sea, Tired of the green caresses of the land,

The listless Palm-trees catch the breeze above The pile-built huts that edge the salt Lagoon, There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love,

To-night the clouds hang very low, They take the Hill-tops to their breast, And lay their arms about the fields.

I hate this City, seated on the Plain, The clang and clamour of the hot Bazar, Knowing, amid the pauses of my pain,

Talk not, my Lord, of unrequited love, Since love requites itself most royally. Do we not live but by the sun above,

If some day this body of mine were burned (It found no favour alas! with you) And the ashes scattered abroad, unurned,

The tropic day's redundant charms Cool twilight soothes away, The sun slips down behind the palms

When I am dying, lean over me tenderly, softly, Stoop, as the yellow roses droop in the wind from the South. So I may, when I wake, if there be an Awakening,

Thou hast no wealth, nor any pride of power, Thy life is offered on affection's altar. Small sacrifices claim thee, hour by hour,

Oh, that my blood were water, thou athirst, And thou and I in some far Desert land, How would I shed it gladly, if but first

I would have taken Golden Stars from the sky for your necklace, I would have shaken rose-leaves for your rest from all the rose-trees. But you had no need; the short sweet grass sufficed for your slumber,

'T is eight miles out and eight miles in, Just at the break of morn. 'T is ice without and flame within,

Beloved! your hair was golden As tender tints of sunrise, As corn beside the River

Something compels me, somewhere.    Yet I see No clear command in Life's long mystery. Oft have I flung myself beside my horse,

Do you ever think of me? you who died Ere our Youth's first fervour chilled, With your soft eyes and your pulses stilled

Waters glisten and sunbeams quiver, The wind blows fresh and free. Take my boat to your breast, O River!

The Temple bells are ringing, The young green corn is springing, And the marriage month is drawing very near.

Ah, Wind, I have always loved thee Since those far off nights When I lay beneath the vines

When first I loved, I gave my very soul Utterly unreserved to Love's control, But Love deceived me, wrenched my youth away

You are my God, and I would fain adore You With sweet and secret rites of other days. Burn scented oil in silver lamps before You,

Just in the hush before dawn A little wistful wind is born. A little chilly errant breeze,

Only in August my heart was aflame, Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair, Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep

Was it worth while to forego our wings To gain these dextrous hands ? Truly they fashion us wonderful things

I Who was it held that Love was soothing or sweet? Mine is a painful fire, at its whitest heat.

Ay, thou has found thy kingdom, Yasin Khan, Thy fathers' pomp and power are thine, at last. No more the rugged roads of Khorasan,

At night, when Passion's ebbing tide Left bare the Sands of Truth, Yasmini, resting by my side,

I am not sure if I knew the truth What his case or crime might be, I only know that he pleaded Youth,

Love me a little, Lord, or let me go, I am so weary walking to and fro Through all your lonely halls that were so sweet