Many Gods Part 7

The palms along the old fort wall are paling, The mountains in the evening light are red, The moon has dropped into the moat from heaven, A spell barbaric over all is spread.

But what is that to him, a stranger lonely, In a land strange to all his faith and dim?

He cares not for old splendours, he would only Hear on the air a simple Sabbath hymn.

The paddy-birds their snowy flight are taking From the tall tamarind unto their nest, The bullock-carts along the road are creaking, The bugles o'er the wall are sounding rest.

On a calm jetty looking off to Mecca Sons of Mahomet watch the low day's rim.

He too is waiting for it--with an echo Upon his lips of a believer's hymn.

The red gate-towers rise against the twilight, The palace of the heathen king is hid, The white bridge bent across the moat beside it Seems now of all unholinesses rid.

He wishes it were so with all this city Whose Buddha-built paG.o.das skyward swim; But he can only gaze on them and pity-- And sing within his heart a Christian hymn.

THE Pa.r.s.eE WOMAN

(_At Bombay_)

Cast me out from among you, I will not see my child Laid aloft where the vultures May clamour for him, wild!

The earth you say is holy, Not to be soiled by death, And a Pa.r.s.ee still should hold divine What Zoroaster saith.

Ay, and so I will hold it, But see his pale sweet face, As pure as the palest flower Left dead in Spring's embrace.

The sun we wors.h.i.+p daily Shrined it for seven years, Then shall it go to cruel beaks, There where the sea-wind veers?

No, no, no! tho you send me A beggar from your door, You, my lord, whom I honour, And you, his sisters four, To whom there have come no children To make your bosoms feel How even a thought so full of throe Can make my sick brain reel.

Ah, you are deaf? you scorn me And loathe, as a thing defiled?

My lord, I am but a woman Who longs to see her child Laid in a tomb, entreasured Under the shrouding sod.

O would I had never given birth, Or that earth had no G.o.d!

SHAH JEHAN TO MUMTAZ MAHAL

I see as in a pale mirage The palm that o'er you sways, The waters of the Jumna wan are beating.

One pearl-cloud, like a far-off Taj, A dome of grief betrays-- Its beauty as was yours will be too fleeting!

The world is wider than I knew Now that your face is gone!

While you were here no destiny seemed boundless.

So I am lost and find no clue To any dusk or dawn!

Life has become a quest decayed and groundless.

Come back! come back or let me find The jungle leads at last Unto your lips and bosom recreated!

O somewhere I again must wind My arms about you, cast Into one word my love all unabated!

PRINCESS JEHANARA

Where the road leads from Delhi to the South, And dingy camel-trains creep in the dust Past ruin-heaps of old Firozabad And Indropat unpitied of the drouth; By a lone tree, above a Pool whose sad Prayer-water all the turban-people trust, Is a heat-hidden tomb, and on it just A few faint blades of bent and grieving gra.s.s.

"Jehanara's it is," with ready mouth A Moslem tells the stranger, "once she said, 'The covering of the poor is only gra.s.s, Let it be mine alone when I am dead.'"

And who has stood there, where about her Rest Rise high Imperial tombs, knows hers is best.

A SINGHALESE LOVE LAMENT

As the cocoanut-palm That pines, my love, Away from the sound Of the planter's voice, Am I, for I hear No more resound Your song by the pearl-strewn sea!

The sun may come And the moon wax round, And in its beam My mates may rejoice, But I feast not And my heart is dumb, As I long, O long, for thee!

In the jungle-deeps, Where the cobra creeps, The leopard lies In wait for me.

But O, my love, When the daylight dies There is more to my dread than he!

Harsh lonely tears That a.s.sail my eyes Are worse to bear, For the misery That makes them well Is the long, long years That I moan away from thee!

O again, again, In my katamaran A-keel would I push To your palmy door!

Again would I hear The heave and hush Of your song by the plantain-tree.

But far away Do I toil and crush The hopes that arise At my sick heart's core.

For never near Does it come, the day That draws me again to thee!

ON THE ARABIAN GULF

From a far minaret of faithful cloud A wraith-muezzin of the sunset cried Over the sea that swung with sultan pride, "Allah is Beauty, there is none beside!

Allah is Beauty, not to be denied By Death or any Infidel dark-browed!"

And every wave that wors.h.i.+pped, every one Under the mosque of heaven arching high, Lifted a white crest with a.s.senting sigh And answered, "Let all G.o.ds but Allah die, Yea, let all G.o.ds! until the world shall cry, Beauty alone is left under the sun!"

THE RAMESSID

Upon an image of immortal stone, Seated and vast, the moon of Luxor falls, Lending to it a stillness that appals, A mystery Osirian and strange.

The hands outplaced upon the knees in lone And placid majesty reveal the power Of Egypt in her most triumphal hour, The calm of tyranny that cannot change.

It is of that Great king, who heard the cries Of millions toil to lift him to the skies, Who saw them perish at their task like flies, Yet let no eye of pity o'er them range.

What rue, then, if his desecrated face Rots now at Cairo in a mummy case?