Collected Works (Vol. III)

87 IMAGES OF LIFE (Juoth he: By Allah, ’tis a star Struck from the azure firmament ! Habib: I pour the wine of love For Al Awaz the excellent. The king: I envy him thy shape, Thy voice, thy colour, and thy scent. Ifabib: In singing of his slave Ifath Al Awaz grown eminent. The king: But I, to taste thy lip, My kingdom willingly had spent. Habib: Asylum of the World! My master bade me to present My loveliness to thee, whose brows Like to a Scythian bow are bent. The king accepted him to bear Ilis cup of wine, and was content. Let Al Qahar their praises sing: Three souls, one love, one element.! DANCE a measure Of tiniest whirls! Shake out your treasure Of cinnamon curls ! Tremble with pleasure, O wonder of girls! 1 This poem is very much taboo in Persia, as it iS supposed to be little better than a pamphlet in favour of Christianity. The later work of Al Qahar, and especially his master- piece, the Bagh-i-muattar, are, however, if not quite above suspicion, so full of positive piety of the Sufi sort that even the orthodox tolerate what the mystic and the ribald silently or noisily admire. lI. Rest is bliss, And bliss is rest, Give me a kiss If you love me best! Hold me like this With my head on your breast ! ANICCA. H1& who desires desires a change. Change is the tale of life and death. Matter and motion rearrange Their endless coils; the Buddha saith: ‘*Cease, O my sons, to desire ! Change is the whole that we see By the light of a chaos on fire. Cease to desire—you are free !”’ Your words, good Gotama, are brave and true 3 Kasy to say, but difficult to do! TARSHITERING. NEPALI LOVE-SONG.! O KISSABLE Tarshitering ! the wild bird calls its mate—and I? Come to my tent this night of May, and cuddle close and crown me king! Drink, drink our full of love at last—a little while and we shall die, O kissable Tarshitering ! Droop the long lashes: close the eyes with eyelids like a beetle’s wing ! Light the slow smile, ephemeral as ever a painted butterfly, Certain to close into a kiss, certain to fasten on me and sting! Nay? Are you coy? Then I will catch your hips and hold you wild and shy Until your very struggles set your velvet buttocks all a-swing, Until their music lulls you to unfathomable ecstasy, O kissable Tarshitering ! 1 Possibly the original of the well-known Hindustani song :— “Thora thairo, Tenduk! thora thairo, tum! Thora thairo, thairo thora, thora thairo tum !"’ a a