31
In my heart’s empire, see How He rides spitefully, Rides with imperious will To ravage, and to kill!
No heart is there, but bright Gleameth in that moon’s light; A thousand mirrors, see! Reflect His coquetry.
To each hand he hath won Ten realms of Solomon, Yet gambles with it all To gain a poor, mean thrall.
The hearts of such as know Swift He assaults; but lo: Before the unwise, unskilled, He casteth down His shield.
32
Upon the road of high desire My load yet lieth in the mire, Because my heart would still engage With trappings, caravan, and stage.
Where is the lightning of the gaze That shall my dwelling burn and raze? Fain would I yet a bargain keep With what men sow, and what men reap.
O let this layman’s vessel ride Upon a full, tempestuous tide: The wave affrighteth me so sore, I fix my gaze upon the shore.
Ah, what adventure is to gain— To quiver, never to attain: Thrice happy he, who even now Behind the train doth riding go.
But he who never knew his heart From the two worlds to dwell apart, He still bemused and cheated is By unsubstantial images.
A single, brief epiphany Consoleth not the passionate eye: Where shall I take the wounding dart That pricketh even yet my heart?
In the glad presence of the friend A history is that hath no end, As still these sorrows yet unsaid Lie in my heart deep‐buried.
33
The days are ended Of winter long; The branches quiver With living song.
The breeze in beauty Arrays the rose As from the river It gently blows.
The tulip’s lantern In desert bare Is fanned to brightness, By the spring air.
Sad, mid the roses, My heart doth dwell, Yea, from the meadow Flees the gazelle;
A little eases With grief and pain Or like a bill‐stream Laments again.
Lest my heart’s passion May softer grow, Not to the trusty I’ll tell my woe.
34
At home to loiter never did me please, A rover I, stranger in every land.
At dawn, the ashes thus addressed the breeze: ‘This desert’s air put out my flaming brand;
Pass gently; scatter me not with Thy hand; I yet recall the caravans’s unease.’
My tears, like dew, trickled upon the sand, I, too, being dust on the world’s passages.
Then in my heart I heard a soft voice sing: The stream of time did from my fountain spring.
The past is all my fever and fire of yore, The future all that I am yearning for:
Think not upon thy dust, O think no more— Lo, by the life, I know no perishing!
35
By the Saki’s eye Heart enflamed I lie; Drunk without wine— O delight divine!
All unveiled, desire Burns a fiercer fire; Let me see or no, Yet my soul’s aglow.
See the rebec’s string At my fingering Like a candle’s wick Flameth bright and quick.
Save my heart can be Lodging none for me, Naught is me assigned, Ne’er a way I find.
Till the sun arise From the eastern skies Sleep to me denied. Like the stars I ride.