Stars of the Desert. Adela Florence Cory Nicolson
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When, my eager longing for you unaltered
Your first kiss cancelled my months of pain.
Ah, Life, you may torture my soul, betray me,
The right is yours, as Lover and Lord.
And when in the climax of all, you slay me,
My lips in dying will seek your sword.
Illusion
Thinking you had a heart that love could break,
A lovely gentle soul that might awake,
I held you tenderly for either's sake,
And showed you nothing but love's ecstasy.
Now, though you have no heart to melt or burn,
No soul to wonder, meditate or yearn,
Your beauty is a fact; lie still and learn
Something of passionate love's intensity.
Sleep
(The Moorish Slave, at Fidala, Morocco)
There is something so beseeching in the attitude of sleep,
A pathetic resignation, most appealing to the heart.
There must surely be some secret that the eyes in slumber keep,
Which the lips, on their awakening, could not, if they would, impart.
See yon Slave from Sus, recumbent, with his ebon arms outspread
On the marigolds he crushes to a sheet of golden flowers,
How the mystery of dreaming lends a halo to his head,
And exalts him to a level never reached in waking hours.
In the form that lies impassive, while the sea-wind comes and goes
And uplifts his rags in pity, on its cool refreshing breath,
There is something so prophetic of the Last and Great Repose:
Sleep has borrowed, in its quietude, the Dignity of Death.
Though his parted lips are wordless, though he breathes no uttered prayer
Yet his silence seems imploring "Let me deem the noonday night,
For my dreams are velvet-breasted, and they shelter me from care,
I entreat thee not to wake me to the sorrows of the light."
Ah, sleep on, in peace, my brother, to awaken when thou wilt,
From the dreams that treat thee kindly, and the rest that sets thee free.
With the wild fig for thy canopy, the marigolds thy quilt,
And, to serve thee for a lullaby, the thunder of the Sea.
Song of the Enfifa River
(In Memory of Abdullah, drowned at sixteen, on the road to Rabat, Morocco)
At day-break, when the tide was low
He came to bathe his slender feet,
And laughing, sported to and fro,
Across my waters cool and sweet.
Obedient to his Faith's decree
His sable hair was shorn away,
One curl was left, that floating free,
I longed to deck with silver spray.
His eyes were wide and full of light,
Young eyes, where dreams and fancies glow.
There was no star in Heaven so bright,
And I reflect the stars, and know.
He gave himself to my embrace,
Ah, Youth, confiding and unwise!
My kisses clustered on his face
How should I render up my prize?
Yet he withdrew; my waves were weak.
He loitered on my banks awhile,
Shook my caresses from his cheek,
And left me with a careless smile.
I let him leave; my tides were low.
But, seeking succour of the Sea
At noon I felt the breakers flow
Across the bar, and join with me.
I waited in the heat; at length
Again he came to bathe alone,
Then, in the fulness of my strength,
I caught and held him for my own!
His strong young arms apart he flung,
His red lips cried, I had no care.
In eddies round his limbs I clung,
And rippled in and out his hair.
I bore him downwards to the Sea,
The white surf met us on the sand,
His beauty was made one with me
Who saw and loved it on the land.
I laid him down upon the bar,
Played with his hair, and kissed his eyes.
How cold these mortal lovers are!
He sleeps and makes me no replies.
My tides run low; he will not wake,
His hand drifts, like an empty shell.
I stole him for his beauty's sake,
Alas, Enfifa did not well!
His young lips show no stir of breath.
Ah—I begin to understand,
And I remember:—this is Death!
The haunting terror of the land.
The River of Pearls at Fez: Translation
One evening we sat together
By the river of Pearls at Fez,
Stringing verses and sometimes singing.
My gaze followed the beautiful boy
Who, with a swift and delicate movement,
Flung the wine-cup over his shoulder;
The ruby drops glittered and fell
Bright in the dying sunshine.
The River of Pearls shone like a sword in the grass,
Not disdaining