Part 7

A thousand burn and die; He takes no heed, Their bones, unburied, strewn upon the plain, Only increase the frenzy of His greed To add more victims to th' already slain.

He loves the haggard frame, the shattered mind, Gloats with delight upon the glazing eye, Yet, in one thing, His cruelty is kind, He sends them lovely dreams before they die;

Dreams that bestow on them their heart's desire, Visions that find them mad, and leave them blest, To sink, forgetful of the fever's fire, Softly, as in a lover's arms, to rest.

Fancy

Far in the Further East the skilful craftsman Fashioned this fancy for the West's delight. This rose and azure Dragon, crouching softly Upon the satin skin, close-grained and white.

And you lay silent, while his slender needles Pricked the intricate pattern on your arm, Combining deftly Cruelty and Beauty, That subtle union, whose child is charm.

Charm irresistible: the lovely something We follow in our dreams, but may not reach. The unattainable Divine Enchantment, Hinted in music, never heard in speech.

This from the blue design exhales towards me, As incense rises from the Homes of Prayer, While the unfettered eyes, allured and rested, Urge the forbidden lips to stoop and share;

Share in the sweetness of the rose and azure Traced in the Dragon's form upon the white Curve of the arm. Ah, curb thyself, my fancy, Where would'st thou drift in this enchanted flight?

Feroza

The evening sky was as green as Jade, As Emerald turf by Lotus lake, Behind the Kafila far she strayed, (The Pearls are lost if the Necklace break!)

A lingering freshness touched the air From palm-trees, clustered around a Spring, The great, grim Desert lay vast and bare, But Youth is ever a careless thing.

The Raiders threw her upon the sand, Men of the Wilderness know no laws, They tore the Amethysts off her hand, And rent the folds of her veiling gauze.

They struck the lips that they might have kissed, Pitiless they to her pain and fear, And wrenched the gold from her broken wrist, No use to cry; there were none to hear.

Her scarlet mouth and her onyx eyes, Her braided hair in its silken sheen, Were surely meet for a Lover's prize, But Fate dissented, and stepped between.

Across the Zenith the vultures fly, Cruel of beak and heavy of wing. Thus it was written that she should die. Inshallah! Death is a transient thing.

This Month the Almonds Bloom at Kandahar

I hate this City, seated on the Plain, The clang and clamour of the hot Bazar, Knowing, amid the pauses of my pain, This month the Almonds bloom in Kandahar.

The Almond-trees, that sheltered my Delight, Screening my happiness as evening fell. It was well worth—that most Enchanted Night— This life in torment, and the next in Hell!

People are kind to me; one More than Kind, Her lashes lie like fans upon her cheek, But kindness is a burden on my mind, And it is weariness to hear her speak.

For though that Kaffir's bullet holds me here, My thoughts are ever free, and wander far, To where the Lilac Hills rise, soft and clear, Beyond the Almond Groves of Kandahar.

He followed me to Sibi, to the Fair, The Horse-fair, where he shot me weeks ago, But since they fettered him I have no care That my returning steps to health are slow.

They will not loose him till they know my fate, And I rest here till I am strong to slay, Meantime, my Heart's Delight may safely wait Among the Almond blossoms, sweet as they.

That cursed Kaffir! Well, he won by day, But I won, what I so desired, by night, My arms held what his lack till Judgment Day! Also, the game is not yet over—quite!

Wait, Amir Ali, wait till I come forth To kill, before the Almond-trees are green, To raze thy very Memory from the North, So that thou art not, and thou hast not been!

Aha! Friend Amir Ali! it is Duty To rid the World from Shiah dogs like thee, They are but ill-placed moles on Islam's beauty, Such as the Faithful cannot calmly see!

Also thy bullet hurts me not a little, Thy Shiah blood might serve to salve the ill. Maybe some Afghan Promises are brittle; Never a Promise to oneself, to kill!

Now I grow stronger, I have days of leisure To shape my coming Vengeance as I lie, And, undisturbed by call of War or Pleasure, Can dream of many ways a man may die.

I shall not torture thee, thy friends might rally, Some Fate assist thee and prove false to me; Oh! shouldst thou now escape me, Amir Ali, This would torment me through Eternity!

Aye, Shuffa-Jan, I will be quiet indeed, Give here the Hakim's powder if thou wilt, And thou mayst sit, for I perceive thy need, And rest thy soft-haired head upon my quilt.

Thy gentle love will not disturb a mind That loves and hates beneath a fiercer Star. Also, thou know'st, my Heart is left behind, Among the Almond-trees of Kandahar!