Chapter 5

Midwinter grips this lonely land, This stony, treeless waste, Where East, due East, across the sand, We fly in fevered haste.

Pull up! the East will soon be red, The wild duck westward fly, And make above my anxious head, Triangles in the sky.

Like wind we go; we both are still So young; all thanks to Fate! (It cuts like knives, this air so chill,) Dear God! if I am late!

Behind us, wrapped in mist and sleep The Ruined City lies, (Although we race, we seem to creep!) While lighter grow the skies.

Eight miles out only, eight miles in, Good going all the way; But more and more the clouds begin To redden into day.

And every snow-tipped peak grows pink An iridescent gem! My heart beats quick, with joy, to think How I am nearing them!

As mile on mile behind us falls, Till, Oh, delight! I see My Heart's Desire, who softly calls Across the gloom to me.

The utter joy of that First Love No later love has given, When, while the skies grew light above, We entered into Heaven.

Till I Wake

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, Keep, what lulled me to sleep, the touch of your lips on my mouth.

His Rubies: Told by Valgovind

Along the hot and endless road, Calm and erect, with haggard eyes, The prisoner bore his fetters' load Beneath the scorching, azure skies.

Serene and tall, with brows unbent, Without a hope, without a friend, He, under escort, onward went, With death to meet him at the end.

The Poppy fields were pink and gay On either side, and in the heat Their drowsy scent exhaled all day A dream-like fragrance almost sweet.

And when the cool of evening fell And tender colours touched the sky, He still felt youth within him dwell And half forgot he had to die.

Sometimes at night, the Camp-fires lit And casting fitful light around, His guard would, friend-like, let him sit And talk awhile with them, unbound.

Thus they, the night before the last, Were resting, when a group of girls Across the small encampment passed, With laughing lips and scented curls.

Then in the Prisoner's weary eyes A sudden light lit up once more, The women saw him with surprise, And pity for the chains he bore.

For little women reck of Crime If young and fair the criminal be Here in this tropic, amorous clime Where love is still untamed and free.

And one there was, she walked less fast, Behind the rest, perhaps beguiled By his lithe form, who, as she passed, Waited a little while, and smiled.

The guard, in kindly Eastern fashion, Smiled to themselves, and let her stay. So tolerant of human passion, "To love he has but one more day."

Yet when (the soft and scented gloom Scarce lighted by the dying fire) His arms caressed her youth and bloom, With him it was not all desire.

"For me," he whispered, as he lay, "But little life remains to live. One thing I crave to take away: You have the gift; but will you give?

"If I could know some child of mine Would live his life, and see the sun Across these fields of poppies shine, What should I care that mine is done?

"To die would not be dying quite, Leaving a little life behind, You, were you kind to me to-night, Could grant me this; but--are you kind?

"See, I have something here for you For you and It, if It there be." Soft in the gloom her glances grew, With gentle tears he could not see.

He took the chain from off his neck, Hid in the silver chain there lay Three rubies, without flaw or fleck. She answered softly "I will stay."

He drew her close; the moonless skies Shed little light; the fire was dead. Soft pity filled her youthful eyes, And many tender things she said.

Throughout the hot and silent night All that he asked of her she gave. And, left alone ere morning light, He went serenely to the grave,

Happy; for even when the rope Confined his neck, his thoughts were free, And centered round his Secret Hope The little life that was to be.

When Poppies bloomed again, she bore His child who gaily laughed and crowed, While round his tiny neck he wore The rubies given on the road.

For his small sake she wished to wait, But vainly to forget she tried, And grieving for the Prisoner's fate, She broke her gentle heart and died.

Song of Taj Mahomed

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

These I adore; for these I live and labour, Holding them more than sword or jewelled Mistress, For this indeed may rust, and that prove faithless, But, till my limbs are dust, I have my Fancies.

The Garden of Kama:

Kama the Indian Eros

The daylight is dying, The Flying fox flying, Amber and amethyst burn in the sky. See, the sun throws a late, Lingering, roseate Kiss to the landscape to bid it good-bye.

The time of our Trysting! Oh, come, unresisting, Lovely, expectant, on tentative feet. Shadow shall cover us, Roses bend over us, Making a bride chamber, sacred and sweet.

We know not life's reason, The length of its season, Know not if they know, the great Ones above. We none of us sought it, And few could support it, Were it not gilt with the glamour of love.

But much is forgiven To Gods who have given, If but for an hour, the Rapture of Youth. You do not yet know it, But Kama shall show it, Changing your dreams to his Exquisite Truth.

The Fireflies shall light you, And naught shall afright you, Nothing shall trouble the Flight of the Hours. Come, for I wait for you, Night is too late for you, Come, while the twilight is closing the flowers.

Every breeze still is, And, scented with lilies, Cooled by the twilight, refreshed by the dew, The garden lies breathless, Where Kama, the Deathless, In the hushed starlight, is waiting for you.

Camp Follower's Song, Gomal River

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

We're falling back from the Gomal, Across the Gir-dao plain, The camping ground is deserted, We'll never come back again.

Along the rocks and the defiles, The mules and the camels wind. Good-bye to Rahimut-Ullah, The man who is left behind.

For some we lost in the skirmish, And some were killed in the fight, But he was captured by fever, In the sentry pit, at night.

A rifle shot had been swifter, Less trouble a sabre thrust, But his Fate decided fever, And each man dies as he must.

Behind us, red in the distance. The wavering flames rise high, The flames of our burning grass-huts, Against the black of the sky.

We hear the sound of the river, An ever-lessening moan, The hearts of us all turn backwards To where he is left alone.

We sing up a little louder, We know that we feel bereft, We're leaving the camp together, And only one of us left.

The only one, out of many, And each must come to his end, I wish I could stop this singing, He happened to be my friend.

We're falling back from the Gomal We're marching on Apozai, And pleasure and rest are waiting To welcome us by and by.

Perhaps the feast will taste bitter, The lips of the girls less kind,-- Because of Rahimut-Ullah, The man who is left behind!

Song of the Colours: by Taj Mahomed

_Rose-colour_ Rose Pink am I, the colour gleams and glows In many a flower; her lips, those tender doors By which, in time of love, love's essence flows From him to her, are dyed in delicate Rose. Mine is the earliest Ruby light that pours Out of the East, when day's white gates unclose.

On downy peach, and maiden's downier cheek I, in a flush of radiant bloom, alight, Clinging, at sunset, to the shimmering peak I veil its snow in floods of Roseate light.

_Azure_ Mine is the heavenly hue of Azure skies, Where the white clouds lie soft as seraphs' wings, Mine the sweet, shadowed light in innocent eyes, Whose lovely looks light only on lovely things.

Mine the Blue Distance, delicate and clear, Mine the Blue Glory of the morning sea, All that the soul so longs for, finds not here, Fond eyes deceive themselves, and find in me.

_Scarlet_ Hail! to the Royal Red of living Blood, Let loose by steel in spirit-freeing flood, Forced from faint forms, by toil or torture torn Staining the patient gates of life new born.

Colour of War and Rage, of Pomp and Show, Banners that flash, red flags that flaunt and glow, Colour of Carnage, Glory, also Shame, Raiment of women women may not name.

I hide in mines, where unborn Rubies dwell, Flicker and flare in fitful fire in Hell, The outpressed life-blood of the grape is mine, Hail! to the Royal Purple Red of Wine.

Strong am I, over strong, to eyes that tire, In the hot hue of Rapine, Riot, Flame. Death and Despair are black, War and Desire, The two red cards in Life's unequal game.

_Green_ I am the Life of Forests, and Wandering Streams, Green as the feathery reeds the Florican love, Young as a maiden, who of her marriage dreams, Still sweetly inexperienced in ways of Love.

Colour of Youth and Hope, some waves are mine, Some emerald reaches of the evening sky. See, in the Spring, my sweet green Promise shine, Never to be fulfilled, of by and by.

Never to be fulfilled; leaves bud, and ever Something is wanting, something falls behind; The flowered Solstice comes indeed, but never That light and lovely summer men divined.

_Violet_ I were the colour of Things, (if hue they had) That are hard to name. Of curious, twisted thoughts that men call "mad" Or oftener "shame." Of that delicate vice, that is hardly vice, So reticent, rare, Ethereal, as the scent of buds and spice, In this Eastern air.

On palm-fringed shores I colour the Cowrie shell, With its edges curled; And, deep in Datura poison buds, I dwell In a perfumed world. My lilac tinges the edge of the evening sky Where the sunset clings. My purple lends an Imperial Majesty To the robes of kings.

_Yellow_ Gold am I, and for me, ever men curse and pray, Selling their souls and each other, by night and day. A sordid colour, and yet, I make some things fair, Dying sunsets, fields of corn, and a maiden's hair.

Thus they discoursed in the daytime,--Violet, Yellow, and Blue, Emerald, Scarlet, and Rose-colour, the pink and perfect hue. Thus they spoke in the sunshine, when their beauty was manifest, Till the Night came, and the Silence, and gave them an equal rest.

Lalila, to the Ferengi Lover

Why above others was I so blessed And honoured? to be chosen one To hold you, sleeping, against my breast, As now I may hold your only son.

Twelve months ago; that wonderful night! You gave your life to me in a kiss; Have I done well, for that past delight, In return, to have given you this?

Look down at his face, your face, beloved, His eyes are azure as yours are blue. In every line of his form is proved How well I loved you, and only you.

I felt the secret hope at my heart Turned suddenly to the living joy, And knew that your life and mine had part As golden grains in a brass alloy.

And learning thus, that your child was mine, Thrilled by the sense of its stirring life, I held myself as a sacred shrine Afar from pleasure, and pain, and strife,

That all unworthy I might not be Of that you had deigned to cause to dwell Hidden away in the heart of me, As white pearls hide in a dusky shell.

Do you remember, when first you laid Your lips on mine, that enchanted night? My eyes were timid, my lips afraid, You seemed so slender and strangely white.

I always tremble; the moments flew Swiftly to dawn that took you away, But this is a small and lovely you Content to rest in my arms all day.

Oh, since you have sought me, Lord, for this, And given your only child to me, My life devoted to yours and his, Whilst I am living, will always be.

And after death, through the long To Be, (Which, I think, must surely keep love's laws,) I, should you chance to have need of me, Am ever and always, only yours.

On the City Wall

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, The last alight with action, the first so full of rest.

Brown, that seem to hold the Past; its magic mystery, Blue, that catch the early light, of ages yet to be.

Meet and fall and meet again, then linger, look, and smile, Time and distance all forgotten, for a little while.

Happy on the city wall, in the warm spring weather, All the force of Nature's laws, drawing them together.

East and West so gaily blending, for a little space, All the sunshine seems to centre, round th' Enchanted place!

One rides down the dusty road, one watches from the wall, Azure eyes would fain return, and Amber eyes recall;

Would fain be on the ramparts, and resting heart to heart, But time o' love is overpast, East and West must part.

Blue eyes so clear and brilliant! Brown eyes so dark and deep! Those are dim, and ride away, these cry themselves to sleep.

_"Oh, since Love is all so short, the sob so near the smile,_ _Blue eyes that always conquer us, is it worth your while?"_

"Love Lightly"

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, And a thousand flowers flinging their sweetness on the air.

But you, who sat beside me, had a shadow in your eyes, Their sadness seemed to chide me, when I gave you scant replies; You asked "Did I remember?" and "When had I ceased to care?" In vain you fanned the ember, for the love flame was not there.

"And so, since you are tired of me, you ask me to forget, What is the use of caring, now that you no longer care? When Love is dead his Memory can only bring regret, But how can I forget you with the flowers in your hair?"

What use the scented Roses, or the azure of the sky? They are sweet when Love reposes, but then he had to die. What could I do in leaving you, but ask you to forget,-- I suffered, too, in grieving you; I all but loved you yet.

But half love is a treason, that no lover can forgive, I had loved you for a season, I had no more to give. You saw my passion faltered, for I could but let you see, And it was not I that altered, but Fate that altered me.

And so, since I am tired of love, I ask you to forget, What is the use you caring, now that I no longer care? When Love is dead, his Memory can only bring regret; Forget me, oh, forget me, and my flower-scented hair!

No Rival Like the Past

As those who eat a Luscious Fruit, sunbaked, Full of sweet juice, with zest, until they find It finished, and their appetite unslaked, And so return and eat the pared-off rind;--

We, who in Youth, set white and careless teeth In the Ripe Fruits of Pleasure while they last, Later, creep back to gnaw the cast-off sheath, And find there is no Rival like the Past.

Verse by Taj Mahomed

When first I loved, I gave my very soul Utterly unreserved to Love's control, But Love deceived me, wrenched my youth away And made the gold of life for ever grey. Long I lived lonely, yet I tried in vain With any other Joy to stifle pain; There _is_ no other joy, I learned to know, And so returned to Love, as long ago. Yet I, this little while ere I go hence, Love very lightly now, in self-defence.

Lines by Taj Mahomed

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

You say, and the tone is fretful, That my mourning days were few, You call me over forgetful-- My God, if you only knew!

There is no Breeze to Cool the Heat of Love

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, No wind from land or sea, at night or noon.

Perfumed and robed I wait, my Lord, for you, And my heart waits alert, with strained delight, My flowers are loath to close, as though they knew That you will come to me before the night.

In the Verandah all the lights are lit, And softly veiled in rose to please your eyes, Between the pillars flying foxes flit, Their wings transparent on the lilac skies.

Come soon, my Lord, come soon, I almost fear My heart may fail me in this keen suspense, Break with delight, at last, to know you near. Pleasure is one with Pain, if too intense.

I envy these: the steps that you will tread, The jasmin that will touch you by its leaves, When, in your slender height, you stoop your head At the low door beneath the palm-thatched eaves.

For though you utterly belong to me, And love has done his utmost 'twixt us twain, Your slightest, careless touch yet seems to be That keen delight so much akin to pain.

The night breeze blows across the still Lagoon, And stirs the Palm-trees till they wave above Our pile-built huts; Oh, come, my Lord, come soon, There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love.

Every time you give yourself to me, The gift seems greater, and yourself more fair, This slight-built, palm-thatched hut has come to be A temple, since, my Lord, you visit there.

And as the water, gurgling softly, goes Among the piles beneath the slender floor; I hear it murmur, as it seaward flows, Of the great Wonder seen upon the shore.

The Miracle, that you should come to me, Whom the whole world, seeing, can but desire, It is as though some White Star stooped to be The messmate of our little cooking fire.

Leaving the Glory of his Purple Skies, And the White Friendship of the Crescent Moon, And yet;--I look into your brilliant eyes, And find content; Oh, come, my Lord, come soon.

Perfumed and robed I wait for you, I wait, The flowers that please you wreathed about my hair, And this poor face set forth in jewelled state, So more than proud since you have found it fair.

My lute is ready, and the fragrant drink Your lips may honour, how it will rejoice Losing its life in yours! the lute I think But wastes the time when I might hear your voice.

But you desired it, therefore I obey. Your slightest, as your utmost, wish or will, Whether it please you to caress or slay, It would please me to give obedience still.

I would delight to die beneath your kiss; I envy that young maiden who was slain, So her warm blood, flowing beneath the kiss, Might ease the wounded Sultan of his pain--

If she loved him as I love you, my Lord. There is no pleasure on the earth so sweet As is the pain endured for one adored; If I lay crushed beneath your slender feet

I should be happy! Ah, come soon, come soon, See how the stars grow large and white above, The land breeze blows across the salt Lagoon, There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love.

Malay Song

The Stars await, serene and white, The unarisen moon; Oh, come and stay with me to-night, Beside the salt Lagoon!

My hut is small, but as you lie, You see the lighted shore, And hear the rippling water sigh Beneath the pile-raised floor.

No gift have I of jewels or flowers, My room is poor and bare: But all the silver sea is ours, And all the scented air

Blown from the mainland, where there grows Th' "Intriguer of the Night," The flower that you have named Tube rose, Sweet scented, slim, and white.

The flower that, when the air is still And no land breezes blow, From its pale petals can distil A phosphorescent glow.

I see your ship at anchor ride; Her "captive lightning" shine. Before she takes to-morrow's tide, Let this one night be mine!

Though in the language of your land My words are poor and few, Oh, read my eyes, and understand, I give my youth to you!

The Temple Dancing Girl

You will be mine; those lightly dancing feet, Falling as softly on the careless street As the wind-loosened petals of a flower, Will bring you here, at the Appointed Hour.

And all the Temple's little links and laws Will not for long protect your loveliness. I have a stronger force to aid my cause, Nature's great Law, to love and to possess!

Throughout those sleepless watches, when I lay Wakeful, desiring what I might not see, I knew (it helped those hours, from dusk to day), In this one thing, Fate would be kind to me.

You will consent, through all my veins like wine This prescience flows; your lips meet mine above, Your clear soft eyes look upward into mine Dim in a silent ecstasy of love.

The clustered softness of your waving hair, That curious paleness which enchants me so, And all your delicate strength and youthful air, Destiny will compel you to bestow!

Refuse, withdraw, and hesitate awhile, Your young reluctance does but fan the flame; My partner, Love, waits, with a tender smile, Who play against him play a losing game.

I, strong in nothing else, have strength in this, The subtlest, most resistless, force we know Is aiding me; and you must stoop and kiss: The genius of the race will have it so!

Yet, make it not too long, nor too intense My thirst; lest I should break beneath the strain, And the worn nerves, and over-wearied sense, Enjoy not what they spent themselves to gain.

Lest, in the hour when you consent to share That human passion Beauty makes divine, I, over worn, should find you over fair, Lest I should die before I make you mine.

You will consent, those slim, reluctant feet, Falling as lightly on the careless street As the white petals of a wind-worn flower, Will bring you here, at the Appointed Hour.

Hira-Singh's Farewell to Burmah

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, Our lips may close on each other's lips, but never our souls may meet.

For though in my arms you lie at rest, your name I have never heard, To carry a thought between us two, we have not a single word. And yet what matter we do not speak, when the ardent eyes have spoken, The way of love is a sweeter way, when the silence is unbroken.

As a wayward Fancy, tired at times, of the cultured Damask Rose, Drifts away to the tangled copse, where the wild Anemone grows; So the ordered and licit love ashore, is hardly fresh and free As this light love in the open wind and salt of the outer sea.