The Scented Garden

The First Joy of Union. 75 XVI THE JASMINE-JAR I am a bearded and a turbaned sar ;1 Thou art a boy more lovely than a star. Thou art mine own ; I beat thee sore indeed : More than thy beauty do I love the scar. I mocked thee, shamed thee. Men despise thee now. Well, it is well ! they come no more to mar Our loves ; we’ll wing through universal space, Borne in the moon’s chryselephantine car. Nor shall the bounds of heaven nor the walls Of Allah’s house to love be bond or bar.2 Nor shall the Thee make mischief with the Me, The Near be interrupted by the Far.3 See, how the roses bloom ! How shine the pearls ! The tulip-buds, how beautiful they are !4 While in the deep and dark, thy podex gives The fragrance of some porcelain jasmine-jar.5 Our canopy is night ; our fan the wind ; Our bed some mountain’s amethystine spar. Thine arms close tighter ; drain the cup of love (Which is the cup of death) with El Qahar !