21.
Mine is a heart that has no health in it,
Howe’er I counsel it, it profits not;
I fling it to the winds, the winds will none of it,
I cast it on the flames,—it does not burn.*
22.
I am that wastrel called a Kalandar,
I have no home, no country, and no lair,*
By day I wander aimless o’er the earth,
And when night falls, my pillow is a stone.
23.
What blundering Moth in all the World like me?
What madman like me in the Universe?
The very Serpents and the Ants have nests,
But I—poor wretch—no ruin shelters me.
24.
The Meadow of my Thought grows naught save grief,
My Garden bears no flower save that of woe;
So arid is the desert of my heart,
Not even the herbage of despair grows there.
25.
My heart is dainty as a drinking cup,
I fear for it whene’er I heave a sigh;
It is not strange my tears are as blood,
I am a tree whose roots are set in blood.
26.
If single were my grief, what should I care?*
If small my sorrow were, what should I care?
Call to my couch my lover or my leech,
If either one were nigh what should I care?
*           *           *           *
27.
With wailing plaint my heart is like a flute,
The grief of losing thee is ever at my heels;
Till the Last Day am I consumed with grief,
And when that Day shall be, God only knows.
28.
’Tis Spring! in every garden roses bloom,
On every bough a thousand nightingales;
There is no mead where I can set my foot,
Pray there be none more Burnt-in-Heart than I.
*           *           *           *
29.
I am the ocean poured into a jug,*
I am the point essential to the letter;
In every thousand one greater man stands out,*
I am the greater man of this mine Age!
30.
A Phoenix I, whose attributes are such
That when I beat my wings, the World takes fire;
And should a Painter limn me on a wall,
Mine Image being there would burn the house.
*           *           *           *
31.
If my Sweetheart is my heart, how shall I name her?
And if my heart is my Sweetheart, whence is she named?
The two are so intimately interwoven that
I can no longer distinguish one from the other.
32.
If the mood takes me to seek my Loved One’s face,
Restrain me not, my heart is thrall to her;*
Ah, Camel-man, for God’s sake haste not so!
For I am a laggard behind the Caravan.
*           *           *           *
33.
The picture of thy Beauty, Love, quits not my heart,
The down, the mole, Love, on thy cheek I see alway;*
I’ll knit my lashes close, o’er wrinkled eyes,
That, weeping, thine image ne’er can leave me, Love.*
34.
To-night I can do nought but weep and wail,
To-night I am impatient, conscienceless;*
Last night one hour seemed passing sweet to me,
To-night ’twould seem, I pay for last night’s joy.
35.
More than a thousand hearts hast thou laid waste,
More than a thousand suffer grief for thee,
More than a thousand wounds of thine I’ve counted,
Yet the uncounted still are more than these.
36.
Subdue the glories of thine hyacinthine hair,
Wipe the tears of blood from thy narcissus-eyes;
Why robb’st thou me of the Sun—which is thy love?
Day passes quick, bring not the night too soon!*
37.
O heart of Stone, thou burnest not for me,*
That stone burns not, is not, indeed, so strange;
But I will burn till I inflame thy heart,
For fresh-cut logs are difficult to burn alone.
38.
My heart is giddy and distraught for love of thee,
And tears in torrents flood my beating eyes;*
How like a new-cut log are lovers’ hearts,
Whilst one end burns, the other bleeds its sap.
39.
Without thee my heart has no moment’s peace,
And if I see thy face my grief has fled;
If all men had a share in my heart’s grief,
No heart in all the world but would be sad.
40.
Thy tangled curls are scattered o’er thy face,
Mingling the Roses with the Hyacinths;
But part asunder those entangled strands,
On every hair thou’lt find there hangs a heart.