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Selected Poems of Nidhou
1
Eyes of the hind, you are my jailors, sweetest; My heart with the hind’s frightened motion fleetest In terror strange would flee, But find no issue, sweet; for thy quick smiling, Thy tresses like a net with threads beguiling Detain it utterly.
I am afraid of thy great eyes and well-like, I am afraid of thy small ears and shell-like, And everything in thee. Comfort my fainting heart with soft assurance And soon it will grow tame and love its durance, Hearing such melody.
2
Line not with these dark rings thy bright eyes ever! Such keen shafts are enough to slay unaided; To tip the barbs with venom why endeavour? O then no heart could live thy glance invaded.
Why any live wouldst thou have explanation? Three powers have thine eyes of grievous passion. The first is poison making them death’s portal, The second wine of strong intoxication; The third is nectar that makes gods immortal.
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If the heart’s hope were never satisfied, Then no man could for long his life retain. The cloud to which the impatient rain-lark cried Contents at last the suffering bird with rain And bids him not to thirst for ever.
And see the lamp with the moth flitting near it; A little forward and he swells the fire. But he invites that end and does not fear it, Gladly he burns himself at love’s desire. In bliss to die is his endeavour.
4
What else have I to give thee? I have yielded My heart at thy discretion, And is there than the heart a closer-shielded Reluctant sweet possession? Dear, if thou know of such as yet ungiven, I will not grudge but yielding think it heaven.
5
My eyes are lost in thine as in great rivers, My soul is in their depths of beauty drowned. Love in thine eyes three sacred streams delivers, Whose waves with crests of rushing speed are crowned.
Page – 436 The wind of love has stirred thy fluttering lashes, The tide of love heaves in thy sweet emotion; My beating heart feels as it seaward washes Billows of passion rush a stormy ocean.
6
Sweet, gaze not always on thine own face in the mirror, Lest looking so on thine own wondrous beauty, Thou lose the habit of thy queenly duty And thy poor subject quite forget. Well may I fear such fatal error, Since they who always on their own wealth look, Grow misers and to spend it cannot brook, Lest thou like these grow miser of thy beauty, sweet.
7
Why gazing in the glass I stand nor move As rapt in bliss, hast thou not then divined? Because thy home is in my eyes, dear love And gazing there I gaze on thee enshrined. And therefore must my face seen in the glass In beauty my own former face surpass. Thine own eyes, sweet suspecter, long have known I love my beauty for their sake alone.
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He whom I woo makes with me no abiding; He whom I shun parts not for all my chiding. Absence I quite contemn; he loves nor loves me; Union my life is; ever he deceives me.
9
Cease, clouds of autumn, cease to roll; Your thunders slay a poor girl’s soul. Love of my heart, in distant lands thou roamest. The musical rich sound of rain But touching me, ah, turns to pain. Love of my heart, in distant lands thou roamest. The pleasant daylight brings delay Of added infelicity Because of one face far away, Grief of heart where joy should be. Love of my heart, in distant lands thou roamest. The glorious lightning as it burns Goes shuddering through my body faint And my sad eyes remembrance turns Into moist fountains of complaint. Love of my heart, in distant lands thou roamest. Cease, clouds of autumn, cease to roll; Your thunders slay a poor girl’s soul. Love of my heart, in distant lands thou roamest.
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The Spring is here, sweet friend, the Spring is here And all his captains brings to make me moan. How many dreadful armed things appear One by one.
The cuckoo of his black bands captain is, The full moon marshals his white companies.
The nectared moon grows poisonous as a snake; A venomed arrow is the murmuring bee. The cuckoo’s cunning note my heart doth break Utterly.
11
Ere I had taken half my will of joy, Why hast thou, Night, with cruel swiftness ceased? To slay a woman’s heart with sad annoy, O ruddy Dawn, thou openest in the east. The whispering world begins in dawn’s red shining, Nor will Night stay one hour for lovers’ pining. Ere love is done, must Dawn our love discover?
Ah why should lovers’ blissful meeting Mix so soon with parting’s sorrow? On happy night come heavy morrow? Night will not stay for love’s entreating. Ere love was done, ah me! the night was over.
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Nay, though thy absence was a tardy fire, Yet in such meeting is a worse derision; For never yet the passionate eyes’ desire Drew comfort from such momentary vision. Who ever heard of great heats soon expended, Huge fire with a little burning ended?
13
I said in anger, “When next time he prays, I will be sullen and repulse his charms.” Ah me! but when I saw my lover’s face, I quite forgot and rushed into his arms.
Mine eyes said, “We will joy in him no longer; Vainly let him entreat nor pardon crave.” He came, nor pardon asked; my bonds grew stronger, I am become more helplessly his slave.
14
Ah sweet, thou hast not understood my love, — This is my grief, thou hast not understood. Else would my heart’s pain thy compassion move, Who in my heart persistest like heart’s blood. When I am dead, then wilt thou pity prove And with thy sorrow on deaf ears intrude? This is my grief, thou hast not understood.
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How much thou didst entreat! with what sweet wooing Thou hast bewitched my soul to love thee! Now when I’ve loved thee to my own undoing, O marvel! all my piteous tears and suing To bless me with thy presence cannot move thee.
Would I, if I had known ere all was over, Have given my heart for thy sole pleasure? So sweet thy words, I fell in love with loving And gave my heart, the very roots removing. How could I know that thy love had a measure?
16
How could I know that he was waiting only For an excuse to leave me? I was so sure he loved me, not one lonely Suspicion came to grieve me.
But now a small offence his pretext making He has buried Love and left me; Blithely has gone, his whole will of me taking, Having of bliss bereft me.
Too well he knows my grief of heart, not caring Tho’ it break through his disdain. I sit forsaken, all my beauty wearing But as a crown of pain.
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Into the hollow of whose hand my heart I gave once, surely thinking him my lover, How shall I now forget him? by what art My captive soul recover?
I took Love’s graver up and slow portrayed His beauty on my soul with lingering care. How shall the etching from its background fade, Burnt in so deeply there?
“He has forgotten thee, forget him thou;” All say to me, “a vain thing is regret.” Ah yes, that day when death is on my brow, I shall indeed forget.
18
Hast thou remembered me at last, my own And therefore come after so many days? When man has once drained love and elsewhere flown, Does he return to the forgotten face? Therefore I think by error thou hast come, Or else a passing pity led thee home.
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I did not dream, O love, that I Would ever have thee back again. The sunflower drooping hopelessly Expects no sun to end her pain.
I did not dream my lord would show Favour to his poor slave-girl more, That I should mix my eyes as now With the dear eyes I panted for.
I did not dream my huge desire Would be filled full and grief be over, But burning in love’s bitter fire With hopeless longing for my lover,
One thought alone possessed thy slave, “Lord of my life, where art thou gone? Wilt thou not come that life to save?” Dumbly this thought and this alone.
20
In true sweet love what more than utter bliss is, He only knows who is himself true lover. As moon-bird seeks the moon, she seeks his kisses, Liberal of nectar he yearns down above her.
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