Laurence Hope

“ Here is beauty to feast thine eyes.
Here is the land of thy long desire.
See how the delicate spirals rise
Azure and faint from the wood-fed fire.
Where the cartmen wearily share their food,
Ere they, by their bullocks, lie down to rest.
Heart of mine, dost thou find it good
This wide red road by the winds caressed?
This lone Parao, where the fireflies light?
These tom-toms, fretting the peace of night?
Heart, thou hast wandered and suffered much,
Death has robbed thee, and Life betrayed,
But there is ever a solace for such
In that they are not lightly afraid. ”

“ Would that this idle breast, reversing fate,
A willing serf to love, supported thine!
I smell the savage scent of sun-warmed fur
Close in the Jungle, musky, hot and sweet.—
The air comes from thy shoulder, even as myrrh,
Would we were as the panthers, free to meet.
The Temple road is steep; I grieve to see
Thy slender ankles bruised among the clods.
Oh, my Beloved, if I might worship thee!
Beauty is greater far than all the Gods. ”

“ Ah, what hast thou done with the Lover I loved,
Who found me wanting, and thee so fair?
Ahi, Yasmini, He found her fair!
Nay, nay, the greatest of all was thine;
The love of the One whom I craved for so,
But much I doubt if thou couldst divine
The Grace and Glory of Love, or know
The worth of the One whom thine arms embraced.
I may misjudge thee, but who can tell?
So hard it is, for the one displaced,
To weigh the worth of a rival’s spell. ”

“ Every fibre and bone of me is waxen full of pains,
The iron feet of mine enemy’s curse are heavy upon my head,
Look at me and judge for thyself, thou seest I am but dead.
“Then, who is it, Prince, who has done this thing, has sown such a bitter seed,
That we hale him forth to the Market-place, bind him and let him bleed,
That the flesh may shudder and wince and writhe, reddening ’neath the rod.”
Love is the evil-doer, alas! and how shalt thou scourge a God? ”

“ Of vast vague passions stored in days to be,
When some strong souls shall conquer their division
And two shall be as one, eternally?
Finding at last upon each other’s breast,
Unutterable calm and infinite rest,
While love shall burn with such intense a glow
That both shall die, and neither heed or know.
Why do I question thus, and wake confusion
In the soft thought that lights thy perfect face,
Ah, shed once more thy perfumed hair’s profusion,
Open thine arms and make my resting place. ”

“ Gold-lust, blind selfishness,—
The shortest, cheapest way to win
Some, worse than cheap, success.
Such are her attributes and aims,
Yet meekly we obey,
While she to guide and order claims
All issues of the day.
You seek for honour, friendship, truth?
Let Middle-age be banned!
Go, for warm-hearted acts, to Youth;
To Age,—to understand!
The Jungle Flower
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,
Palest amber, perfect lines, and scented with champa flower. ”

“ But great is the charm of the River, so soft is the sigh of the reeds,
They give me, long sleepless from passion, the peace that my weariness needs.
I float on the breast of my River, and startle the birds on the edge,
To land on a newly found island, a boat that is caught in the sedge,
The rays of the sun are still level, not yet has the heat of the day
Deflowered the mists of the morning, that linger in delicate grey.
What land was his dwelling whose fancy first gave unto Paradise birth?
He never had swum in my River, or else he had fixed it on earth! ”

“ So I shall return to my River, and floating at ease on its breast,
Shall find, what Love never has given—a sense of most infinite rest.
When the years have gone by and departed, what thought shall I keep of this land? ”

“ Or all fair pleasures clustered ’neath his hand.
His gain by day, his ecstasy by night,—
His force, his folly, fierce or faint delight,—
Suffering or sorrow, fortune, feud, or care,—
Whate’er he find or feel,—he may not share.
Lonely we join the world, and we depart
Even as lonely, having lived alone,
The breast that feeds us, the beloved one’s heart,
The lips we kiss,—or curse—alike unknown.
Ay, even these lips of thine, so often kissed,
What certitude have I that they exist? ”

“ My youth died down that day.
For sake of thine own content of mind
My lost beloved, I pray
That never my Lord a love may know
Like that he threw away.
Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore,
Who threw my life away!
To M. C. N.
Thou hast no wealth, nor any pride of power,
Thy life is offered on affection’s altar.
Small sacrifices claim thee, hour by hour,
Yet on the tedious path thou dost not falter. ”

“ Thirst may be quenched at any kindly river,
Rest may be found ’neath any arching tree.
No sleep allures, no draughts of love deliver
My spirit from its aching need of thee.
Thy sweet assentiveness to my demands,
All the caressive touches of thy hands,—
These soft cool hands, with fingers tipped with fire,—
They can do nothing to assuage desire. ”

“ Winnowed to suit thy tender brain,—is thine,
Thus Life shall find thee, not all unprepared
To face its callous, subtle cruelties.
Still,—it will profit little; I discern
Thou art of those whose love will prove their curse,
—Thou sayest thou lovest me, to thy delight? ”

“ What is the fragrance in thy tresses?
’T is the scent of the champa’s breath;
The meaning of champa bloom is passion—
And of datura—death!
Sweet are thy ways and thy strange caresses,
That sear as flame, and exult as wine.
But I care only for that wild moment
When my soul arises and reaches thine.
Wistful voices of wild birds calling—
Far, faint lightning towards the West,—
Twinkling lights of a Tyah homestead,—
Ruddy glow on a girl’s bare breast ”

“ As the cool of night descendeth
His last strength thy lover spendeth in returning to thy breast,
Where beneath the Babul nightly,
While the planets shimmer whitely,
And the fire-flies glimmer brightly, thou shalt give him love and rest.
Far away, across the distance,
The quick-throbbing drums’ persistence
Shall resound, with soft insistence, in the pauses of delight,
Through the sequence of the hours,
While the starlight and the flowers
Consecrate this love of ours, in the Temple of the Night.
Written in Cananore I
Who was it held that Love was soothing or sweet? ”

“ Death shall take his pleasure in me.
I Arise and go Down to the River
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,
Or the ripples wash off from my shoulder the reddening stain of thy lips.
Two things make my joy at this moment: thy gold-coloured beauty by night,
And the delicate charm of the River, all pale in the day-breaking light,
So cool are the waters’ caresses. Ah, which is the lovelier,—this? ”

“ How could I bear thine eyes’ unconscious scorning
Of what so pleased thee in the dimmer light?
It may be wine had brought some brief illusion,
Filling thy brain with rainbow fantasy,
Or youth, with moonlight, making sweet collusion,
Threw an alluring glamour over me
Therefore I leave thee softly, to awaken
When the first sun rays warm thy blue-veined breast,
Smiling and all unknowing I have taken
The poppied drink that brings me endless rest. ”

“ Amongst thy loosened hair.
Give me a soft and secret place
Against thine amber breast,
Where, hidden away from all mankind,
My soul may come to rest.
Many a man has a secret dream
Of where his life might be ”

“ For I spent my nights with Krishna, who loved me—in my dreams!
“Surface Rights”
Drifting, drifting down the River,
Tawny current and foam-flecked tide,
Sorrowful songs of lonely boatmen,
Mournful forests on either side.
Thine are the outcrops’ glittering blocks,
The quartz where the rich pyrites gleam,
The golden treasure of unhewn rocks
And the loose gold in the stream.
But,—the dim vast forests along the shore,
That whisper wonderful things o’ nights,—
These are things that I value more,
My beautiful “surface rights.” ”

“ Let the dim starlight, when the low clouds sunder,
Silver the perfect outline of thy face.
Such faces had the saints; I only wonder
That thine has sought my heart for resting-place.
The Dying Prince
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,
And the garden is but a memory, the vineyard only a name.
There is no light in the empty sky, no sail upon the sea,
Birds are yet on their nests perchance, but they sing no more to me. ”

“ The youthful widow, with shaven hair,
Whose senses ache for the love of a man,
The young Priest, knowing that women are fair,
Who stems his longing as best he can,
These suffer not as I suffer for Thee ”

“ Thine to possess and re-issue again,
Such is thy tender and passionate duty,
Licit thy pleasure and honoured thy pain.
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Choti Tinchaurya, lovely and tender,
Still all unbroken to sorrow and strife.
Come to the Bridegroom who, silk-clad and slender,
Brings thee the Honour and Burden of Life.
Bidding farewell to thy light-hearted playtime,
Worship thy Lover with fear and delight,
Art thou not ever, though slave of his daytime,
Choti Tinchaurya, queen of his night?
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Unanswered
Something compels me, somewhere. ”

“ Scent of fur and colour of blood:—
And the long dead instincts rose,
I followed the lure of my season’s mate,—
And flew, bare-fanged, at my foes.
Pale days: and a league of laws
Made by the whims of men.
Would I were back with my furry cubs
In the dusk of a jungle den.
Middle-age
The sins of Youth are hardly sins,
So frank they are and free.
’T is but when Middle-age begins
We need morality. ”

“ And yet—had my midnight been lonely you had been less lovely to me.
This coolness comes laden with solace, because I am hot from the fire,
As often devotion to virtue arises from sated desire.
_Gautama came forth from his Palace; he felt the night wind on his face,_
_He loathed, as he left, the embraces, the softness and scent of the place,_
_But, ah, if his night had been loveless, with no one to solace his need,_
_He never had written that sermon which men so devotedly read._
Ah, River, thy gentle persuasion! ”

“ Thine is a sword that flashes but to destroy.
Though mine eyes rose up from thy Beauty’s banquet, calm and refreshed,
My lips, that were granted naught, can find no rest.
My soul was linked with thine, through speech and silent hours,
As the sound of two soft flutes combined, or the scent of sister
flowers.
But the body, that wretched slave of the Sultan, Mind,
Who follows his master ever, but far behind,
Nothing was granted him, and every rebellious cell
Rises up with angry protest, “It is not well!
Night is falling; thou hast departed; I am alone ”

“ I have given my father’s younger son the guidance of the State.
“The steeds are saddled, the Captains call for the orders of the day.”
Tell them that I shall ride no more to the hunting or the fray.
“Sweet the scent of the Moghra flowers;” Brother, it may be so.
“The young, flushed spring is with us again.” Is it? I did not know.
“The Zamorin’s daughter draweth near, on slender golden feet;”
Oh, a curse upon all sweet things say I, to whom they are no more sweet!
Dost think that a man as sick as I can compass a woman’s ease? ”