 Section 7, India's Love Lyrics by Laurence Hope Recorded by Helen Willaford Lauer for LibriVox This recording is in the public domain. Two songs by Sitara of Kashmir Beloved, your hair was golden as tender tints of sunrise As corn beside the river in softly varying hues I loved you for your slightness, your melancholy sweetness Your changeful eyes that promised what your lips would still refuse You came to me and loved me, were mine upon the river The azure water saw us and the blue transparent sky The lotus flowers knew it, our happiness together While life was only river, only love and you and I Love wakened on the river to sounds of running water With silver stars for witness and reflected stars for light Awakened to existence with ripples for first music And sunlight on the river for earliest sense of sight Love died upon the river, cold snow upon the mountains The lotus leaves turned yellow and the water very gray Our kisses faint and falter, the clean hands unfasten The golden time is over and our passion dies away Away to be forgotten, a ripple on the river The flashes in the sunset that flashed and died away Second song, the girl from Baltastan Throb, throb, throb, far away in the blue transparent night On the outer horizon of dreaming consciousness She hears the sound of her lovers nearing boat A far, a float on the river's loneliness Where the stars are the only light Here's the sound of the straining wood Like a broken sob of a heart's distress Loving, misunderstood She lies with her loose hair, spent in soft disorder On a silken sheet with a purple woven border Every cell of her brain is latent fire Every fiber tense with restrained desire And the straining oars sound clearer, clearer The boat is approaching nearer, nearer How to wait through the moment's space Till I see the light of my lover's face Throb, throb, throb, the sound dies down the stream Only clings at the senses edge like a half-remembered dream Doubtless, he in the silence lies His fair face turned to the tender skies Starlight touching his sleeping eyes While his boat is caught in the thick-set sedge And the waters rounded gurgle and sob Or floats set free on the river's tide Oars laid aside She is awake and knows no rest Passion dies and is dispossessed Of his brief, despotic power But the brain, once kindled, would still be a fire Where the whole world passed her to its desire And all of love, in a single hour A single wine cup filled to the brim Given to slake its thirst Some there are who are thus wise cursed Times that follow fulfilled desire Are of all their hours the worst They find no respite and reach no rest Though passion fail and desire grow dim No assuagement comes from the thing possessed For possession feeds the fire O, for the life of the bright-hued things Whose marriage and death are one A floating fusion on golden wings A lit with passion and sun But we who remarry a thousand times As the spirit or senses will In a thousand ways, in a thousand climbs We remain unsatisfied still As her lover left her alone awake she lies With a sleepless brain and weary half-closed eyes She turns her face where the purple silk is spread Still sweet with delicate perfume His presence shed Her arms remember his vanished beauty still And reminiscent of clustered curls Her fingers thrill While the wonderful starlit night wears slowly on Till the light of another day serene and won Pierces the eastern skies Palm trees by the sea Love, let me thank you for this Now we have drifted apart Wandered away from the sea For the fresh touch of your kiss For the young warmth of your heart For your youth given to me Thanks for the curls of your hair Softer than silk to the hand For the clear gaze of your eyes For yourself, delicate, fair Seen as you lay on the sand The violet skies Thanks for the words that you said Secretly, tenderly sweet All through the tropical day Till when the sunset was red I, who lay still at your feet Felt my life ebbing away Weary and worn with desire Only yourself could console Love, let me thank you for this For that fierce fervor and fire Burnt through my lips to my soul From the white heat of your kiss You were the essence of spring Wayward and bright as a flame Though we have drifted apart Still, how the syllables sing Mixed in your musical name Deep in the well of my heart Once in the lingering light Throne from the west on the sea Laid you your garments aside Slender and goldenly bright Glimmered your beauty set free Bright as a pearl in the tide Once ere the thrill of the dawn Silvered the edge of the sea I, who lay watching you rest Pale in the chill of the morn Found you still dreaming of me Still by love's fancies possessed Fallen on sorrowful days, love Let me thank you for this You were so happy with me Wrapped in youth's rosy at haze Wanting no more than my kiss By the blue edge of the sea Ah, for those nights on the sand Under the palms by the sea For the strange dream of those days Spent in the passionate land For your youth given to me I am your debtor always Song by Gulbaz Is it safe to lie so lonely When the summer twilight closes No companion maidens Only you asleep among the roses Thirteen, fourteen years you number And your hair is soft and scented Paralysis is such a slumber In the twilight all untented Lonely loveliness means danger Lying in your rose leaf nest What if some young passing stranger Broke into your careless rest But she would not heed the warning Lay alone, serene and slight Till the rosy spears of morning Slew the darkness of the night Young love walking softly found her In the scented shady closes Through his ardent arms around her Kissed her lips beneath the roses And she said with smiles and blushes Would that I had sooner known Never now the morning thrushes Wake and find me all alone Since you said the rose leaf cover Sweet protection gave but slight I have found this dear young lover To protect me through the night Kashmiri song, pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar Where are you now Who lies beneath your spell Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway far Before you agonize them in farewell O pale dispensers of my joys and pains Holding the doors of heaven and of hell How the hot blood rushed wildly through the veins Beneath your touch until you waved farewell Pale hands, pink tipped Like lotus buds that float On those cool waters where we used to dwell I would have rather felt you round my throat Crushing out life than wailing me farewell Reverie of Ormuz the Persian Softly the feathery palm trees Fade in the violet distance Faintly the lingering light touches the edge of the sea Sadly the music of waves drifts faint As an anthems insistence Heard in the aisles of a dream Over the sandhills to me Now that the lights are reversed And the singing changed into sighing Now that the wings of our fierce Fugitive passion are furl Take I unto myself All alone in the light that is dying Much of the sorrow that lies hid At the heart of the world Sad am I, sad for your loss For failing the charm of your presence Even the sunshine has paled Leaving the zenith less blue Even the ocean lessens the light Of its green opalescence Since to my sorrow I loved Loved and grew weary of you Why was our passion so fleeting Why had the flush of your beauty Only so slender a spell Only so futile a power Yet even thus ever is life Save when long custom or duty Molds into sober fruit Loves fragile and fugitive flower Fane would my soul have been faithful Never an alien pleasure Lured me away from the light Lit in your luminous eyes But ever desire of the mind Satisfied once and at leisure To criticize, balance, take counsel Assuredly dies All through the centuries Man has gathered his flower And fenced it Infinite strife to attain Infinite struggle to keep Holding his treasures awhile All fate and all forces against it Knowing it his no more If ever his vigilance sleep But we have altered the world As pitiful man has grown stronger So that the things we love Are as easily kept as one Therefore the ancient fight Can engage and detain us no longer And all too swiftly alas Passion is over and done Far too speedily now We can gather the coveted treasure Enjoy it awhile, be satiated Begin to tire And what shall be done Hints forth with the prophetess After leisure Who has the breath to kindle The ash of a faded fire Ah, if it only had lasted After my ardent endeavor Came the delirious joy Flooding my life like a sea Days of delight that are burnt On the brain forever and ever Days and nights when you loved Before you grew weary of me Softly the sunset decreases Dim in the violet distance Even as love's own fervor Has faded away from me Leaving the weariness The monotonous weight of existence All the farewells in the world Weep in the sound of the sea Sunstroke on straight white road That runs to meet Across green fields the blue-green sea You knew the little weary feet Of my child bride that was to be Her people brought her from the shore One golden day in sultry June And I stood waiting at the door Praying my eyes might see her soon With eager arms wide open thrown Now never to be satisfied Air I could make my love my own Closed her amber eyes and died Alas, alas they took no heed How frail she was my little one But brought her here with cruel speed Beneath the fierce relentless sun We laid her on the marriage bed The bridal flowers in her hand A maiden from the ocean led Only alas to die inland I walk alone, the air is sweet The white road wanders to the sea I dream of those two little feet That grew so tired in reaching me Adoration, who does not feel desire Unending to solace through his daily strife Some mysterious mental blending The hungry loneliness of life Until by sudden passion shaken As terriers shake a rat at play He finds all blindly he has taken The old hereditary way Yet in the moment of communion The very heart of passions fire His spirit spurns the mortal union Not this, not this, the soul's desire O you, by whom my life is riven And ref'd away from my control Take back the hours of passion given Love me one moment from your soul Although I once in ardent fashion Implored you long to give me this In hopes to stem or stifle passion Your hair to touch, your lips to kiss Now that your gracious self has granted The loveliness you hold is not I find alas not that I wanted Possession has not stifled thought Desire its aim has only shifted Built hopes upon another plan And I in love for you have drifted Beyond all passions known to man Beyond all dreams of soft caresses The soullessing of any kiss Beyond the fragrance of your tresses Once I had sold my soul for this But now I crave no mortal union Thanks for that sweetness in the past I need some subtle strange communion Some sense that I join you at last Long past the pulse and pain of passion Long left the limits of all love I crave some nearer, fuller fashion Some unknown way beyond above Some infinitely inner fusion As wave with water, flame with fire Let me dream once the dear delusion That I am you, O heart's desire Your kindness lent to my caresses That beauty you so lightly prize The midnight of your sable tresses The twilight of your shadowed eyes Ah, for that gift all thanks are given Yet, O adored beyond control Count all the passionate past forgiven And love me once, once from your soul End Section 7 Andia's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope Recorded by Helen Willaford Lauer for LibriVox This recording is in the public domain Section 8 Andia's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope Recorded by Helen Willaford Lauer for LibriVox This recording is in the public domain Three songs of Zahiruddin The tropic day's redundant charms Cool twilight soothes away The sun slips down behind the palms And leaves the landscape gray I want to take you in my arms And kiss your lips away I wake with sunshine in my eyes And find the morning blue A night of dreams behind me lies And all were dreams of you Ah, how I wish the while I rise That what I dream were true The weary day's laborious pace I hasten and beguile by fancies Which I backwards trace to things I loved erstwhile The weary sweetness of your face Your faint, elusive smile The silken softness of your hair Where faint bronze shadows are Your strangely slight and youthful air No passions seem to mar Oh, why, since fate has made you fair Must fortune keep you far Thus spent the days so long and bright Less hot and brilliant seams Till in a final flare of light The sun withdraws its beams Then in the coolness of the night I meet you in my dreams Second song How much I loved the way you had Of smiling most when very sad A smile which carried tender hints Of delicate tents and warbling birds Of sun and spring and yet More than all other thing Of weariness beyond all words None other ever smiled that way None that I know The essence of all gaiety lay Of all mad mirth that men may know In that sad smile, serene and slow That on your lips was want to play It needed many delicate lines and subtle curves And rosy-hate tents to make that weary, radiant smile It flickered as beneath the lines The sunshine through green shadow glints On the pale path that lies below Flickered and flushed and dyed away But the strange thoughts that awoke Meanwhile were want to stay Thoughts of strange things you used to know In dim, dead lives lived long ago Some madly mirthful merriment Whose lingering light is yet unspent Some unimaginable woe Your strange, sad smile Forgets these not, though you yourself Long sense forgot Third song, written during fever Tonight the clouds hang very low They take the hilltops to their breast And lay their arms about the fields The wind that fans me lying low, restless With great desire for rest No cooling touch of freshness yields I, sleepless through the stifling heat Watch the pale lightning's constant glow Between the wide set open doors I lie and long amidst the heat The fever that my senses know For that cool slenderness of yours So delicate and cool you are A rose leaf that has lain in snow A snowflake tinged with sunset fire You do not know, so young you are How fever fans the senses glow To uncontrollable desire And fills the spaces of the night With furious and frantic thought One would not dare to think by day Ah, if you came to me tonight These visions would be turned to not These hateful dreams beheld at bay But you are far and loneliness My only lover through the night And not for any word or prayer Would you console my loneliness Or lend yourself serene and slight And the cool clusters of your hair All through the night I long for you As shipwrecked men in tropics Yern for the fresh flow of streams and springs My fevered fancies follow you As dying men in deserts Turn their thoughts to clear and chilly things Such dreams are mine And such my thirst unceasing And unsatisfied until the night Is burnt away among these dreams And fevered thirst and through The open doorways glide On the white feet of the coming day The regret of the Rani In the Hall of Peacocks This man has taken my husband's life And laid my brethren low No sister, indeed, were I, no wife To pardon and let him go Yet why does he look so young and slim As he weak and wounded lies How hard for me to be harsh to him His soft, appealing eyes His hairs ruffled upon the stone And the slender wrists are bound So young, and yet he has overthrown His scores on the battleground When I were only a slave girl to-day To whom it were right and meet To wash the stains of the war away The dust from the weary feet Were I but one of my serving girls To solace his pain to rest Shake out the sand from those soft loose curls And hold him against my breast Have we such beauty around our throne Such life and delicate strength Would God that I were the senseless stone To support his slender length I hate those wounds that trouble my sight Unknown how I wish you lay Alone in my silken tent to-night While I charm the pain away I would lay you down on the royal bed I would bathe your wounds with wine And setting your feet against my head Dream, you were a lover of mine My crown is heavy upon my hair The jewels weigh on my breast All I would leave with delight To share your pale and passionate rest But hands grow restless about their swords Lips murmur below their breath The queen is silent too long My lords, take him away to death Protest, by Zahiruddin Alas, alas This wasted night with all its jasmine-scented air Its thousand stars serenely bright I lie alone and long for you Long for your champa-scented hair Your tranquil eyes of twilight hue Long for the closed-curve, delicate lips Their sinuous sweetness laid on mine Here where the slender fountain drips Here where the yellow roses glow Pale in the tender silver shine The stars across the garden throw Alas, alas, poor, passionate youth Why must we spend these lonely nights? The poets hardly speak the truth Despite their praiseful litany His season is not all delights Nor every night an ecstasy The very power and passion that make Might make his days one golden dream How he must suffer for their sake Till in their fierce and futile rage The baffled senses almost deem They might be happier in old age Age that can find red roses sweet And yet not crave a rose-red mouth Here, Bulbles, with no wish That feet of sweeter singers went his way Inhale warm breezes from the south Yet never feel his fancy stray From some near village I can hear The cadence throbbing of a drum Now softly distant, now more near And in an almost human fashion Its plaintive whistful seems to come Laden with the size of fitful passion To mock me, lying here alone Among the thousand useless flowers Upon the fountain's border stone Cold stone that chills me as I lie Counting the slowly passing hours By the white spangles in the sky Some feast the tom-toms celebrate We're close together, side by side Gay in their gauze and tensile state With lips serene and downcast eyes Sit the young bridegroom at his bride While round them songs and laughter rise They are together, why are we So hopelessly so far apart? Oh, I employ you, come to me Come to me, solace of mine eyes Come, consolation of my heart Light of my senses What replies? A little languid mocking breeze That rustles through the jasmine flowers And stirs among the tannerin trees A little gurgle of the spray that drips Unheard through the silent hours Then breaks in sudden bubbling play Wind, have you never loved a rose? And water, seek you not to see Why, therefore, mock at my repose Is it my fault I am alone Beneath the feathery tannerin tree Whose shadows over me are thrown? Nay, I am mad indeed with thirst For all to me this night denied And drunk with longing and accursed Beyond all chance of sleep, arrest With love, unslaked, unsatisfied And dreams of beauty, unpossessed Hating the hour that brings you not Mad at the space betwixt us twain Sad for my empty arms so hot and fevered Even the chilly stone can scarcely cool Their burning pain and oh This sense of being alone Take hence, O night, your wasted hours You bring me not my life's delight My star of stars, my flower of flowers You leave me loveless and forlorn Pass on, most false and futile night Pass on, and perish in the dawn Famine song, death and famine on every side And never a sign of rain, the bones Of those who have starved and died Unburied upon the plain What care of I that bones bleach white? Tomorrow they may be mine But I shall sleep in your arms tonight And drink your lips like wine Cholera, riot and sudden death And the brave red blood set free The glazing eye and the failing breath But what are these things to me? Your breath is quick and your eyes are bright And your blood is red like wine And I shall sleep in your arms tonight And hold your lips with mine I hear the sound of a thousand tears Like softly pattering rain I see the fever, folly and fears Fulfilling man's tale of pain But for the moment your star is bright I revel beneath its shine For I shall sleep in your arms tonight And feel your lips on mine And you need not deem me over-cold That I do not stop to think For all the pleasure this life may hold It's on the precipice spring Thought could but lessen my soul's delight And today she may not pine For I shall lie in your arms tonight And close your lips with mine I trust what sorrow the fates may send I may carry quietly through And pray for grace when I reach the end To die as a man should do Today at least must be clear and bright Without a sorrowful sign Because I sleep in your arms tonight And feel your lips on mine So on I work in the blazing sun To bury what dead we may But glad, oh glad, when the day is done And the night falls round us gray With those we covered away from sight Had a rest as sweet as mine For I shall sleep in your arms tonight And drink your lips like wine The window overlooking the harbor Sad as the evening All the level sand lies left and lonely While the restless sea tired of the green caresses of the land Withdraws into its own infinity But still more sad this white and chilly dawn Filling the vacant spaces of the sky While little winds blow here and there forlorn And all the stars weary of shining die And more than desolate to wake to rise Leaving the couch or softly sleeping still What through the past night made my heaven lies And looking out across the window sill See from the upper window's vantage ground Mankind slip into harness once again And wearyly resume his daily round Of love and labor Toil and strife and pain How the sad thoughts slip back across the night The whole thing seems so aimless and so vain What use the rapture's passion and delight Burnt out as though they could not wake again The worn out nerves and weary brain Repeat the question Whither all these passions tend To various thirsts so painful and so sweet So fierce so very short-lived To what end? Even if seeking for ourselves the race The only immortality we know Even if from the flower of our embrace Some spark should kindle or some fruit should grow What were the use, the gain to us or it That we should cause another you or me Another life from our light-passion lit To suffer like ourselves a while and die What aim? What end indeed? Our being runs in a closed circle All we know or see tends to assure us That a thousand sons teaming per chance with life Have ceased to be All the grey dawn seems more than desolate And the past night of passion worse than waste Love but a useless flower That soon or late turns to a fruit with a bitter taste Youth, even youth seems futile and forlorn While the new day grows slowly white above Pale and reproachful comes the chilly dawn After the fervour of a night of love End Section 8 India's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope Recorded by Helen Williford Lauer for LibriVox This recording is in the public domain Section 9 India's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope Recorded by Helen Williford Lauer This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Back to the border The tremulous morning is breaking Against the white waste of the sky And hundreds of birds are awaking In tamarisk bushes hard-by I, waiting alone in the station Can hear in the distance grey-blue The sound of that iron desolation The train that will bear me from you It will carry me under your casement You'll feel in your dreams as you lie The quiver from gable to basement The rush of my train sweeping by And I shall look out as I pass it Your dear unforgettable door Twas ours till last night But alas it will never be mine anymore Through twilight blue-gray and uncertain Where frost leaves the window pain-free I'll look at the tinsel-edged curtain That hid so much pleasure for me I go to my long, undone duty Alone in the chill and the gloom My eyes are still full of the beauty I leave in your rose-scented room Lies still in your dreams For your tresses are free Of my lingering kiss I keep you awake with caresses no longer Be happy in this From passion you told me you hated Your now and for ever set free I pass in my train sorrow-weighted Your house that was heaven to me You won't find a trace when you waken Of me or my love of the past Rise up and rejoice I have taken my long-for-departure at last My fervent and useless persistence You never need suffer again Nor even perceive in the distance The smoke of my vanishing train Reverie, Zaheer Oden Alone I wait till her twilight gate The night slips quietly through With shadow and gloom and purple bloom Flung over the zenith blue Her stars that tremble would feign To symbol light over lovers' throne Her hush and mystery know no history Such as day may own Day has record of pleasure and pain But things that are done by night Remain forever and ever unknown For a thousand years Neath a thousand skies Night has brought men love Therefore the old, old longings Rise as the light grows dim above Therefore now that the shadows close And the mists weird and white While time is scented with musk and rose Magic with silver light I long for love Will you grant me some? Day is over at last Come as lovers have always come Through the evenings of the past Swiftly, as lovers have always come Softly, as lovers have always come Through the long forgotten past C-song Against the planks of the cabinside So slight a thing between them and me The great waves thundered and throbbed Inside the great green waves of the Indian sea Your face was white as the foam is white Your hair was curled as the waves are curled I would we had steamed and reached that night The sea's last edge, the end of the world The wind blew in through the open port So freshly joyous and salt and free Your hair it lifted, your lips it sought And then swept back to the open sea The engines throbbed with their constant beat Your heart was nearer and all I heard Your lips were salt, but I found them sweet While equiescent, you spoke no word So straight you lay in your narrow berth Rocked by the waves And you seemed to be essence of all That is sweet on earth Of all that is sad and strange at sea And you were white as the foam is white Your hair was curled as the waves were curled Ah, had we but sailed and reached that night The sea's last edge, the end of the world To the hills Tis eight miles out and eight miles in Just at the break of morn Tis ice without and flame within To gain a kiss at dawn Far where the lilac hills arise Soft from the misty plain Alone enchanted hollow lies Where I at last drew rain Midwinter grips this lonely land This stony treeless waste Where east, due east, across the sand We fly in fevered haste Pull up, the east will soon be red The wild duck westward fly And make above my anxious head Triangles in the sky Like wind we go, we both are still So young, all thanks to fate It cuts like knives this air so chill Dear God, if I am late Behind us wrapped in mist and sleep The ruined city lies Although we race, we seem to creep While lighter grow the skies Eight miles out only, eight miles in Good going all the way But more and more the clouds begin To redden in today And every snow-tipped peak grows pink An iridescent gem My heart beats quick with joy To think how I am nearing them As mile on mile behind us flies Till, oh delight I see My heart's desire Whose softly calls across the gloom to me The utter joy of that first love No later love has given When, while the skies grew light above We entered into heaven Till I wake When I am dying Lean over me tenderly, softly Stoop as the yellow roses droop In the wind from the south So I may, when I wake If there be an awakening Keep what lulled me to sleep The touch of your lips on my mouth His rubies told by Valgervind Along the hot and endless road Calm and erect with haggard eyes The prisoner bore his fetters load Beneath the scorching azure skies Serene and tall with brows unbent Without a hope, without a friend He, under escort, onward went With death to meet him at the end The poppy fields were pink and gay On either side, and in the heat Their drowsy scent exhaled all day A dream-like fragrance almost sweet And when the cool of evening fell And tender colors touched the sky He still felt youth within him dwell And half forgot he had to die Sometimes at night the campfires lit And casting fitful light around His guard would friend-like let him sit And talk awhile with them, unbound Thus they, the night before last Were resting, when a group of girls Across the small encampment passed With laughing lips and scented curls Then in the prisoner's weary eyes A sudden light lit up once more The women saw him with surprise And pity for the chains he bore For little women wreck of crime If young and fair the criminal be Like amorous climb where love is still Untamed and free. And when there was, she walked less fast Behind the rest, perhaps beguiled By his life-form, who, as she passed Waited a little while and smiled. The guard in kindly eastern fashion Smiled to themselves and let her stay So tolerant of human passion. If he has but one more day Yet when the soft and scented gloom Scarce-lighted by the dying fire His arms caressed her youth and bloom With him it was not all desire. For me he whispered as he lay But little life remains to live One thing I craved to take away You have the gift, but will you give? No, some child of mine would live his life And see the sun across these fields Of poppy shine. What should I care That mine is done? To die would not be dying quite Leaving a little life behind. You, were you kind to me tonight Could grant me this, but are you kind? See, I have something here for you And it, if it there be Soft in the gloom her glances grew With gentle tears he could not see He took the chain from off his neck Hid in the silver chain there lay Three rubies without flaw or flick She answered softly, I will stay. He drew her close. The moonless skies shed little light The fire was dead. Soft pity filled her youthful eyes And many tender things she said. Throughout the hot and silent night All that he asked of her she gave And left alone air-morning light He went serenely to the grave. Happy, for even when the rope Confined his neck his thoughts were free And centered round his secret hope The life that was to be. When poppies bloomed again She bore his child who gaily laughed and crowed While round his tiny neck he wore the rubies Given on the road. For his small sake she wished to wait But vainly to forget she tried And grieving for the prisoner's fate She broke her gentle heart and died. Long of Taj Mohammed, Dear is my inlaid sword, Across the border it brought me much reward. Dear is my mistress, The jeweled treasure of an amorous hour. Dear beyond measure are my dreams and fancies. These I adore, For these I live in labor, Holding them more than sword or jeweled mistress. For this indeed may rust, And that prove faithless. But till my limbs are dust, I have my fancies. End. Section 9 India's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope Recorded by Helen Willaford Lauer for LibriVox. This recording is in the public domain. India's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope Recorded for LibriVox by Helen Willaford Lauer Section 10 The Garden of Kamma Kamma, the Indian Arrows The daylight is dying, The flying fox flying, Amber and amethyst burn in the sky. See, the sun throws a late, Lingering, rosy eight, Kiss to the landscape, To bid it goodbye. This time of our tristing, Oh, come, unresisting, Lovely, expectant, Intinitive feet, Shadows shall cover us, Roses bend over us, Making a bride chamber Sacred and sweet. We know not life's reason, The length of its season, Know not if they know The great ones above, We none of us sought it, And few could support it, Were it not guilt With the glamour of love. But much is forgiven To gods who have given If but for an hour The rapture of youth. You do not yet know it, But Kamma shall show it, Changing your dreams To his exquisite truth. The fireflies shall light you, And not shall affright you, Nothing shall trouble The flight of the hours. For I wait for you, Night is too late for you, Come when the twilight Is closing the flowers. Every breeze still is, And scented with lilies, Cooled by the twilight, Refreshed by the dew, The garden lies breathless, Where Kamma, the deathless, In the hushed starlight, Is waiting for you. Camp follower's song, Gomal River. We have left Gulkak behind us, Are marching on Apozai, Where pleasure and rest Are waiting to welcome us By and by. We're falling back from the Gomal, Across the Girdao plain. The camping ground is deserted. We'll never come back again. Along the rocks and the defiles, The mules and the camels wind. Goodbye to Rahimutullah, The man who is left behind. For some we lost in the skirmish, And some were killed in the fight, But he was captured by fever, In the sentry pit at night. A rifle shot had been swifter, Less trouble a saber thrust, But his fate decided fever, And each man dies as he must. Behind us, red in the distance, The wavering flames rise high, The flames of our burning grass huts, Against the black of the sky. We hear the sound of the river, An everlasting moan. The hearts of us all turn backwards, To where he is left alone. We sing up a little louder, We know we feel bereft. We're leaving the camp together, And only one of us left. The only one out of many, And each must come to his end. I wish I could stop the singing. He happened to be my friend. We're falling back from the gommel, We're marching on apple's eye, And pleasure and rest are waiting To welcome us by and by. Perhaps the feast will taste bitter, The lips of the girls less kind. Because of Rahimut-du-La, The man who is left behind. Song of the Colors by Taj Mohammed. Rose color. Rose pink am I. The color gleams and glows In many a flower. Her lips, those tender doors By which in time of love, Love's essence flows From him to her, Are dyed in delicate rose. Mine is the earliest ruby light That pours out of the east When day's white gates unclose. On downy peach, And maiden's downier cheek, I, in a flush of radiant bloom, Alight, clinging at sunset To the shimmering peak, I veil its snow in floods Of rosy-ed light, azure. Mine is the heavenly hue Of azure skies, Where the white clouds lie Softly as seraph's wings, Mine the sweet shadowed light In innocent eyes, Whose lovely looks light Only on lovely things. Mine, the blue distance, Like it and clear. Mine, the blue glory Of the morning sea. All that the soul so longs for Finds not here, Fond eyes deceive themselves, And find in me. Scarlet, hail to the royal red Of living blood, Let loose by steel In spirit-freeing blood, Forced from faint forms By toil or tortured torn, Staining the patient gates Of life newborn. Color of war and rage, Of pomp and show, Banners that flash, red flags That flaunt and glow, Color of carnage, glory, Also shame, Rainmen of those Whom women may not name. I hide in mines Where unborn rubies dwell, Flicker and flare All fire and hail. The outpressed lifeblood Of the grape is mine, Hail to the royal purple red Of wine. Strong am I, overstrong To eyes that tire, In the hot hue of rapine, Riot, flame, death And despair are black, War and desire, the two red Cards in life's unequal game. Green, I am the life Of forests and wandering streams. Green as the feathery reeds The floric in love. Young as a maiden, Who of her marriage dreams Still sweetly inexperienced In the ways of love. Color of youth and hope, Some waves are mine, Some emerald reaches Of the evening sky. See in the spring My sweet green promise shine, Never to be fulfilled Of by and by. Never to be fulfilled, Leaves, bud, and ever Something is wanting, Something falls behind. The flowered solstice comes, indeed, But never that light And lovely summer, men divine. Violet, I were the color of things If hue they had That are hard to name. Of curious twisted thoughts That men call mad Or oftener shame. Of that delicate vice That is hardly vice, So reticent, rare, Ethereal as the scent Of buds and spice In this eastern air. On palm-fringed shores I color the cowry shell With its edges curled And deep in detura Poison buds I dwell In a perfumed world. My lilac tinges The edge of the evening sky Where the sunset clings. My purple lends An imperial majesty To the robes of kings. Yellow, gold am I, And for me Ever men curse and pray, Selling their souls And each other by night and day, A sordid color, And yet I make Some things fair, Dying sunsets, Fields of corn, And a maiden's hair. Thus they discoursed In the daytime violet, Yellow and blue, Emerald scarlet and rose color, The pink and perfect hue. Thus they spoke in the sunshine Where their beauty was manifest Till the night came And the silence And gave them an equal rest. Your angry lover, Why above others was I So blessed and honored To be the chosen one To hold you sleeping Against my breast, And now I may hold Your only son. Twelve months ago, That wonderful night, You gave your life to me In a kiss. Have I done well For that past delight His eyes are azure As yours are blue In every line of his form Is proved how well I loved you And only you. I felt the secret hope At my heart turned suddenly To the living joy And knew that your life in mine Had part as golden grains In a brass alloy. And learning thus That your child was mine, Thrilled by the sense of its stirring life, I held myself as a sacred shrine, A far from pleasure And pain and strife. That all unworthy I might not be Of that you had dained to cause To dwell hidden away in the heart of me As white pearls hide In a dusky shell. Do you remember When first you laid your lips on mine That enchanted night? My eyes were timid My lips afraid You seemed so slender And strangely white. I always trembled The moments flew swiftly To dawn that took you away. But this is a small And lovely you Content to rest in my arms All day. Oh, since you have sought me, Lord, For this, and given Your only child to me, My life devoted to yours And his, whilst I am living, Will always be. And after death, Through the long to be, Which I think must surely Keep love's laws, I, should you chance To have need of me, Am ever and always Only yours. On the city wall, Upon the city ramparts, Lit up by sunset gleam, Blue eyes that conquer Meet the darker eyes The dream. The dark eyes so eastern And the blue eyes from the west, The last a light with action, The first so full of rest, Brown That seemed to hold the past Its magic mystery, Blue That catch the early light Of ages yet to be. Meet and fall And meet again, Then linger, look, And smile. Time and distance all forgotten For a little while. Happy on the city wall, In the warm spring weather, All the force of nature's laws, Drawing them together. East and west so gaily Blending for a little space, All the sunshine Seems to center Around the enchanted place. One rides down the dusty road, One watches from the wall, As your eyes would feign return, And amber eyes recall. Would feign be on the ramparts, And resting heart to heart. The time of love is over past, East and west must part. Blue eyes so clear and brilliant, Brown eyes so dark and deep, The last a light with action, The last a light with action, The last a light with action, The last a light with action, The last light dark and deep, Those are dim and right away. These cry themselves to sleep. Oh, since love is also short, The sobs so near the smile, Blue eyes that always Conquer us. Is it worth your while? Love lightly. There were roses in the hedges, And sunshine in the sky, Red lilies in the sedges, Where the water rippled by, thousand bubbles singing, oh how jubilant they were, and a thousand flowers flinging their sweetness on the air. But you, who sat beside me, had a shadow in your eyes. Their sadness seemed to chide me when I gave you scant replies. You asked, did I remember, and when had I ceased to care? In vain you fanned the ember, for the love flame was not there. And so, since you are tired of me, you ask me to forget. What is the use of caring, now that you no longer care? When love is dead, his memory can only bring regret. But how can I forget you, with the flowers in your hair? What use the scented roses, or the azure of the sky? They are sweet when love reposes, but then he had to die. What could I do in leaving you, but ask you to forget? I suffered too in grieving you, I all but loved you yet. But half love is treason, that no lover can forgive. I had loved you for a season, I had no more to give. You saw my passion faltered, for I could but let you see. And it was not I that altered, but fate that altered me. And so, since I am tired of love, I ask you to forget. What is the use you are caring, now that I no longer care? When love is dead, his memory can only bring regret. Forget me, oh forget me, and my flowers scented hair. No rival like the past, as those who eat a luscious fruit sunbaked, full of sweet juice, with zest, until they find it finished, and their appetite unslaked, and so return and eat the paired-off rind. Thee who in youth set white and careless teeth in the ripe fruits of pleasure while they last, later creep back to gnaw the cast-off sheath. And fine, there is no rival like the past. I gave my very soul, utterly unreserved, when first I loved, I gave my very soul, utterly unreserved, to love's control. But love deceived me, wrenched my youth away, and made the gold of life forever gray. Long I lived lonely, yet I tried in vain with any other joy to stifle pain. There is no other joy I learned to know, and so returned to love as long ago. But I, this little while ere I go hence, love very lightly now, in self-defense. Lines, by Taj Mohammed, this passion is but an ember of a sun of a fire long set. I could not live and remember, and so I love and forget. You say, and the tone is fretful, that my morning days were few, you call me over-forgetful. My God, if only you knew, there is no breeze to cool the heat of love. The listless palm trees catch the breeze above, the pile-built huts that edge the salt lagoon. There is no breeze to cool the heat of love, no wind from land or sea, at night or noon. Perfumed and robed, I wait, my Lord, for you. And my heart waits alert with strained delight, my flowers are loath to close, as though they knew that you will come to me before the night. In the veranda all the lights are lit, and softly veiled in rows, to please your eyes. Between the pillars flying foxes flit, their wings transparent on the lilac skies. Come soon, my Lord, come soon, I almost fear my heart may fail me in this keen suspense. Like with delight at last to know you near, pleasure is one with pain, if too intense. I envy these, the steps that you will tread, the jasmine that will touch you by its leaves, when in your slender height you stoop your head at the low door beneath the palm-fatched eaves. For though you utterly belong to me, and love has done his utmost to excess twain, your slightest careless touch yet seems to be that keen delight that's so much akin to pain. The night breeze blows across still the goon, and stirs the palm trees till they wave above our pile-built huts. Oh, come, my Lord, come soon, there is no breeze, to cool the heat of love. Every time you give yourself to me the gift seems greater, and yourself more fair. This slight-built palm-fatched hut has come to be a temple since, my Lord, you visit here. And as water, gurgling softly, goes among the piles beneath the slender floor, I hear it murmur as its seaward flows of the great wonder seen upon the shore. The miracle that you should come to me, whom the whole world seeing can but desire. It is as though some white star stooped to be the mess-mate of our little cooking-fire. Seeing the glory of his purple skies and the white friendship of the crescent moon, and yet I look into your brilliant eyes and find content. Oh, come, my Lord, come soon, perfumed and robed, I wait for you, I wait. The flowers that please you wreathed about my hair, and this poor face set forth in a jeweled state, so more than proud since you have found it fair. My lute is ready, and the fragrant drink your lips may honor, how it will rejoice losing its life in yours. The lute, I think, but wastes the time when I might hear your voice. But you desired it, therefore I obey. Your slightest, as your utmost wish or will, whether it please you to caress or slay, it would please me to give obedience still. I would delight to die beneath your kiss. I envy that young maiden who was slain, so her warm blood, flowing beneath the kiss, might ease the wounded sultan of his pain. If she loved him as I love you, my Lord, there is no pleasure on earth so sweet as is the pain endured for one adored. If I lay crushed beneath your slender feet, I should be happy. Ah, come soon, come soon, see how the stars grow large and white above. The land breeze blows across the salt lagoon. There is no breeze to cool the heat of love. Malay song, the stars await, serene and white, the unarisen moon. Oh, come and stay with me tonight beside the salt lagoon. My hut is small, but as you lie, you see the lighted shore, and hear the rippling water sigh beneath the pile-raised floor. No gift have I of jewels or flowers. My room is poor and bare, but all the silver sea is ours, and all the scented air. Blown from the mainland, where there grows the intrigue of the night, the flower that you have named tuberose, sweet scented, slim and white. The flower that went the air is still, and no land breezes blow. From its pale petals can distill a phosphorescent glow. I see your ship at anchor-ride, her captive lightning shine. Before she takes to-morrow's tide, let this one night be mine. Though in the language of your land my words are poor and few, oh, read my eyes and understand. I give my youth to you, the temple-dancing girl. You will be mine, those lightly dancing feet falling as softly on the careless street as the wind-loosen petals of a flower will bring you here at the appointed hour. And all the temple's little links and laws will not for long protect your loveliness. I have a stronger force to aid my cause, nature's great law, to love and to possess. Throughout these sleepless watches, when I lay, wakeful, desiring what I might not see, I knew it helped those hours from dust today. In this one thing fate would be kind to me. You will consent, through all my veins like wine this prescience flows. Your lips meet mine above, your clear soft eyes look upward into mind, dim in the silent ecstasy of love. The clustered softness of your waving hair, that curious paleness which enchants me so. And all your delicate strength and youthful air, destiny will compel you to bestow. Refuse, withdraw, and hesitate awhile. Your young reluctance does but fan the flame. My partner love waits with a tender smile. Who play against him play a losing game. I, strong in nothing else, have strength in this, the subtlest, most resistless force we know is aiding me, and you must stoop and kiss. The genius of the race will have it so. Yet, make it not too long nor too intense, my thirst, lest I should break beneath the strain, and the worn nerves and overwearyed scents, enjoy not what they spent themselves to gain. Rest in the hour when you consent to share that human passion beauty makes divine. I, overworn, should find you over fair, lest I should die before I make you mine. You will consent, those slim, reluctant feet, falling as lightly on the careless street as the white petals of a wind-worn flower, will bring you here, at the appointed hour. Here sings farewell to Burma, on the wooden deck of the wooden junk, silent alone we lie, with silver foam about the bow, and a silver moon in the sky, a glimmer of dimmer silver here from the ankles round your feet. Our lips may close on each other's lips, but never our souls may meet. For though in my arms you lie at rest, your name I have never heard. To carry a thought between us, too, we have not a single word. And yet what matter we do not speak when the ardent eyes have spoken? The way of love is a sweeter way when the silence is unbroken. As a wayward fancy, tired at times, of the cultured damask rose drifts away to the tangled copes where the wild anemone grows. So the ordered and licent love ashore is hardly fresh and free, as the light love in the open wind and salt of the outer sea. So sweet you are, with your tinted cheeks and your small, caressive hands. What if I carried you home with me, where our golden temple stands? But this were folly indeed, to bind in fetters of permanence, a passing dream whose enchantment charms because of its transience. Life is ever a slave to time. We have but an hour to rest, her steam is up and her lighters leave, the vessel that takes me west. And never again we, too, shall meet as we chance to meet tonight. On the junk whose painted eyes gaze forth in desolate want of sight. And what is love at its best but this, conceived by a passing glance, nursed and reared in a transient mood on a drifting sea of chance? For redderless craft are all our loves among the rocks and the shoals. Still we may know one another's speech, but never each other's souls. Give hear your lips and kiss me again, we have but a moment more. Before we set the sail to the mast, before we loosen the oar, goodbye to you and my thanks to you for the rest you let me share. While this night drifted away to the past, to join the nights that wear. Starlight, O beautiful stars, when you see me go hither and thither in search of love, do you think me faithless, who gleam and glow serene and fixed in the blue above? O stars so golden, it is not so. But there is a garden I dare not see. There is a place where I fear to go, since the charm and glory of life to me, the brown earth covered there, long ago. O stars, you saw it, you know, you know. Hither and thither I wandering go, with aimless haste and wearying fret. In a search for pleasure and love, not so, seeking desperately to forget. You see so many, O stars, you know. End section 11, India's Love Lyrics by Lawrence Hope, recorded for Leverbox by Helen Willaford-Lauer. This recording is in the public domain. Sam Pansong, a little breeze blew over the sea, and it came from far away, across the fields of millet and rice, all warm with sunshine and sweet with spice. It lifted his curls and kissed him thrice, as upon the sea, the sun shone, and the moon shone. Sunshine and sweet with spice. It lifted his curls and kissed him thrice, as upon the deck he lay. It said, O idle upon the sea, awake and with sleep have done, haul up the widest sail of the prowl, and come with me to the rice fields now. She longs, O how can I tell you how, to show you your firstborn son. Song of the devoted slave, there is one God, Muhammad his prophet. Had I his power I would take the topmost peaks of the snow-clad Himalayas, and I would range them round your dwelling, during the heats of summer, to cool the airs that fan your serene and delicate presence. Had I the power? Your courtyard should ever be filled with the fleetest of camels, laden with inlaid armor, jewels and trappings for horses, ripe dates from Egypt and spices and musk from Arabia, and the sacred waters of Zimzimwell, transported thither, should bubble and flow in your chamber, to bathe the delicate, slender and way-worn feet of my Lord, returning from travel. Had I the power? Fine woven silk from the further east should conceal your beauty, clinging around you in amorous folds, caressive, silken, beautiful long-lashed, sweet-voiced Persian boys should, feeling serve you, and the floor beneath your sandaled feet should be smooth and golden. Had I the power? And if ever your clear and stately thoughts should turn to women, king's daughters, maidens should be appointed to your caresses, that the youth and the strength of my Lord might never be wasted, in light or sterile love, but enrich the world with his children. Had I the power? Whilst I should sit in the outer court of the water palace, to await the time when you went forth, for pleasure or warfare, descending the stairs rose ground or armed in a raid in purple, to mark the place where your steps have fallen and kiss the footprints. Had I the power? The singer, the singer only sang the joy of life, for all too well alas the singer knew how hard the daily toil, how keen the strife, how salt the falling tear, the joys how few. He who thinks hard soon finds it hard to live, learning the secret bitterness of things. So leaving thought, the singer strove to give a level lightness to his lyric strings. He only sang of love, its joy and pain, but each man in his early season loves, each finds the old, lost paradise again, unfolding leaves and roses, nesting doves. And though that sunlit time flies all too fleetly, delightful days that dance away too soon, its early morning freshness lingers sweetly, throughout life's gray and tedious afternoon. And he, whose dreams enshrine her tender eyes, and she, whose senses wait his waking hand. Impatient youth, that tired but sleepless lies, will read perhaps and reading understand. Oh rosy lips he would have loved to kiss, oh eager lovers that he never knew, what should you know of him, or words of his? But all the songs he sang were sung for you. Malaria, he lurks among the reeds beside the marsh, red oleanders twisted in his hair. His eyes are haggard and his lips are harsh, upon his breast the bones show gaunt and bear. The green and stagnant waters lick his feet, and from their filmy iridescent scum, clouds of mosquitoes, gauzy in the heat, rise with his gifts, death and delirium. His messengers, they bear the deadly taint on spangled wings aloft and far away, making thin music strident and yet faint, from golden eve to silver break of day. The baffled sleeper hears the incessant line through his tormented dreams and finds no rest. The thirsty insects use his blood for wine, probe his blue veins and pasture on his breast. While far away he and the marshes lies, staining the stagnant water with his breath, and endless hunger burning in his eyes, a famine unassuaged, whose food is death. He hides among the ghostly mists that float over the water weird and white and chill, and peasants passing in their laden boat shiver and feel a sense of coming ill. 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 the already slain. He loves the haggard frame, the shattered mine, gluts 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 blessed to sink, forgetful of the fever's fire softly, as in a lover's arms to rest. Fancy, bar 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. 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 wouldst thou drift in this enchanted flight? Feroza, the evening sky was as green as jade as emerald turf by lotus lake, behind the copula 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 meat 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 claying and clamour of the hot bazaar, knowing amid the pauses of my pain. This month the almonds bloom at 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 kafir'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 kafir, 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 over quite. Wait, Amir Ali, wait till I come forth to kill, before the almond trees are green, to raise 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 Shia dogs like thee. They are but ill-placed moles on Islam's beauty, such as the faithful cannot calmly see. Also, my bullet hurts me not a little, thy Shia blood might serve to salv the ill. See 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. All shouldst thou now escape me, Amir Ali, this would torment me through eternity. I, Shafajan, I will be quiet indeed, give here the hackam's powder if thou wilt, and now may I 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 the fiercer star. Also, thou knowest, my heart is left behind among the almond trees of Kandahar. End. Section 12. India's Love Lyrics End. India's Love Lyrics by Laurence Hope. Recorded by Helen Willaford Lauer for LibriVox. This recording is in the public domain.