Stars of the Desert. Adela Florence Cory Nicolson
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Lover of mine, 'tis time to rest
And let the music die.
Though Melody awake the morn,
Yet Love should end the day.
I kiss your hand the strings have worn
And take your lute away.
I kiss your hand, my Lute player,
And take the Lute away.
At twilight on this roof of ours,
So lonely and so high,
We catch the scent of all the flowers
Ascending to the sky.
Sultan of Song, whose burning eyes
Outblaze the stars above,
Forget not, when the sunset dies
You reign as Lord of Love!
Ah, come to me, my Lute player,
Lover, and Lord of Love!
The Hospital on the Shore
The youthful swimmers come up on the beach,
Naked and fresh from the kiss of the sea,
I hear the sound of their light-hearted speech
As it is with them, it was once with me!
Oh, Death, grant me pity: just one day more,
And let me go down again to the shore.
I could have died in the rush of the air,
Mid crashing water and petulant spray,
The surf in my teeth, the wind in my hair,
Rejoicing, exultant, even as they.
But to meet Death here, … in this walled-in cage,
I am dumb with terror and blind with rage.
Have pity! Reprieve me! just one more ride,
White sand beneath us, white planets above,
One last long sail with the ebb of the tide,
One lilac evening of delicate love.
One lingering look at those eyes of his.
To remember through the Eternities.
Among the Sandhills
Lie still, Beloved, I also see the day
Shoot his white arrows through the trembling sky,
But what is dawn to us, who cast away
All sense of time that mars our ecstasy?
The scented orange bushes check the breeze
Granting in tribute many waxen stars,
And aromatic Eucalyptus trees
Defy the sun with grey-green scimitars.
Since fate has given us this garden love,
And Time and Space, for once, have acquiesced,
Ah, take no heed of paling skies above
Let us deem night is with us yet, and rest.
Let us lie still and drift away in dreams,
Back to the jewelled kingdom of the night,
Whose golden stars with dimly radiant gleams
Lit up your loveliness for my delight.
Once we are risen all the cares of day
Will seize and bind us to their wanton will.
Why should we own that night has passed away?
Oh, as you value love, lie still, lie still!
The Cactus
The scarlet flower, with never a sister leaf,
Stemless, springs from the edge of the Cactus-thorn:
Thus from the ragged wounds of desperate grief
A beautiful Thought, perfect and pure, is born.
Lalla Radha and the Churel
His sixteen years had left him very fair,
Tinted his cheeks with soft and delicate bloom,
Added new lustre to his clustered hair,
And filled his amber eyes with tender gloom.
He sought some unknown thing, he knew not what,
His scarce-seen bride, a child, was far away,
Desiring love, as yet he knew it not,
Sleepless by night he grew, forlorn by day.
Priest
"Ah, go not near the Peepul trees,
That shiver in the evening breeze,
A young Churel might hide in these!
"And should she see thee, and desire,
Then will she burn thee in soft fire,
Till in her arms thou shalt expire!"
Lalla Radha
"But who and what is this Churel,
Who loves in Peepul trees to dwell,
The Peepul, where the Koel sings
In frenzied songs, of amorous things?"
Priest
"When, with her child unborn, a woman dies,
Her spirit takes the form of a Churel,
A maiden's form, with soft, alluring eyes,
Where promises of future rapture dwell.
Yet is her loveliness, though passing sweet,
Marred by the backward-turning of her feet.
"She sits in branches of the Peepul trees,
Until beneath, a passing youth she sees.
Should she desire him, swift, she will alight,
Entreating softly 'Stay with me to-night!'
No safety then for him; unless he flies,
Soon, in the furnace of her love, he dies!"
Lalla Radha
"But if indeed these things are so,
Yet what am I, that she should care,
To watch me as I pass below,
Or notice me and find me fair?"
Priest
"Yours are the happiest gifts that the Gods have given,
Who