The Good Book
Page 22
You shall explore, O thoughts, the park in spring;
Your jewelled axles gleaming in the sun
And yoke inlaid with gold;
Or amid orchids and sandalwood trees
You shall stroll through shaded woods.
O thoughts come back and live for these delights!
Peacocks shall fill your gardens; you shall rear
The roc and phoenix, and red jungle-fowl,
Whose cry at dawn assembles river storks
To join the play of cranes and ibises;
Where the wild swan all day
Pursues the glint of kingfishers
Flashing amongst the reeds.
O thoughts come back to watch the birds in flight!
He who has found such delights
Shall feel his cheeks glow
And the blood dancing through his limbs.
Stay with me, O thoughts, and share
The span of days that happiness will bring;
See sons and grandsons succeed in their crafts, enriched;
O thoughts come back and bring prosperity
To house and stock!
The roads that lead abroad teem thick as clouds
With travellers going a thousand miles away.
Are they wise in council; by their aid will rulers relieve
The discontents of humble men
And help the lonely poor?
Will there be deeds to repair
The wrongs endured by every tribe of men?
O thoughts come back and leave the unjust world,
Come back to where the good are praised;
Come back to where the wise are sought!
O thoughts, come back, come back! Go not
East or south, north or west;
Come back to the quiet meadows of home,
To the pavilions of repose where there, at last, is rest.
54
That I could shrink the surface of the world,
So that suddenly I might find you standing at my side!
In old days those who went to fight
Had one year’s leave in every three.
But in this war the soldiers never return;
They fight on till they die:
That is their discharge.
I thought of you, so unsoldierlike,
Trying to learn to march and drill,
To load a gun, to shoot and kill.
That a young man such as you,
Poet, scholar, lover,
Would ever come home again
Seemed as likely as that the sky should fall.
Since I heard the news that you were coming back,
Twice I have visited the high hall of your home.
I found your brother mending your horse’s stall;
I found your mother sewing new clothes for you.
I am half afraid; perhaps it is not true;
Yet I never weary of watching the road for you.
Each day I go to the city gate
With a flask of wine, lest you should come thirsty.
Oh that I could shrink the surface of the world,
So that suddenly I might find you standing at my side!
55
Wake up, cup-bearer, arise! and bring
My thirsty lips the bowl they praise.
I thought love would be easy,
But I have stumbled, and fallen.
I begged the breeze to blow to my face
The fragrance of musk in her hair,
The fragrance that sleeps in the night of her hair –
Yet nothing comes but weeping.
Hear the tavern-keeper’s counsel: ‘With red wine
Dye the carpet on which you lie.’
He knows; he knows the way.
Where shall I rest, when all the still night long
Beyond the gateway, oh heart of my heart,
I hear the bells of lamentation and the cry,
‘Bind up your burden, and depart!’
The tide runs high, night is clouded with fears,
In my ears eddying whirlpools clash and roar;
How shall my drowning voice strike their ears
Whose lighter vessels have gained the shore?
I sought something to be my own; the unsparing years
Have brought me only a dishonoured name.
What cloak shall cover my misery
When each jesting mouth repeats my shame!
Oh hold fast what the wise have said:
‘If at last you gain your life’s desire,
Cast the world aside, leave it for dead;
There is no ease otherwise for the heart
Than to bind up your burden, and depart!’
56
The garden birds sang to the rose
Newly opened in the clear dawn:
‘Lower your head! Within this garden
Many as fair as you have bloomed and died!’
Laughing she replied,
‘That I am born to fade does not grieve me.
But you do wrong to vex with bitter words
The moment when I am most myself.’
The tavern step shall be your hostelry,
Love’s riches come only to those
Who supplicate on its dusty threshold
The ruby-red wine that flows
From life’s jewelled goblet; otherwise
A thousand tears will thread your eyelashes
For such temerity as denies
That love in the fallen rose’s petal lies.
Last night when the garden slept
In the silver arms of the moon,
A breeze stole through its alleys
And lifted the hyacinth’s purple head.
‘Where is the cup, the mirror of the world?
Where is love, like the wakened rose
Blossoming in the garden where its kind
Bloomed and died, so many, before?’
The breeze knew not; but sighed, ‘Alas!
That happiness should sleep so long.’
Love’s secret does not dwell on the lips of men;
Its place is secret and unrevealed. O friend!
Come where there is idle laughter, where wine
Graces the feast: patience and wisdom are launched
On a sea of tears, and soon we must sleep without end.
57
Light of my eyes and harvest of my heart,
Mine at least in changeless memory!
When you found it easy to leave, what you left
Was the harder journey for us to take.
Oh you who stand by, help me lift my load,
Let pity be the comrade of my road!
If only life could re-enter at the deserted door,
And the cold body breathe again and burn;
Come! touch my eyes; I am blind to all
But your face; open their gates and let me see
By the love we bore each other, and its grace,
Once more your face.
58
You ask why I live in the green mountain;
I smile but stay silent, for my heart is free.
As the leaves of the peach tree float downstream
To distant places unknown,
As the hummingbird flashes away to the woods,
And smoke curls up to the clouds,
I go likewise, and am found no more:
Neither in the villages of the plain
Nor the habitations of men;
But live high with the winds
Where all five directions are visible at once,
Alone, without a care.
59
There are no coins in my pocket, and a flagon of wine
Costs as much as an estate to one who is poor.
A plate of food costs even more; but what does it matter?
I cannot eat, even if I had bowl and spoon.
I would cross the river, but ice has stopped the ferry;
I would climb the mountain, but the pass is
blocked with snow;
I would sit by the pond and fish, lazy in the afternoon,
But suddenly I dream of flying to the sun.
It is hard to journey, hard, for there are so many turnings:
Which shall I take?
I will climb on the wind one day and ride,
Over the heavy waves, with a cloud for a sail,
And cross the deep sea to other lands.
60
In the capital as the year draws to a close
A great snowfall cloaks the palace courtyard,
And through the blizzard, on their way from court,
In fine crimson robes the dukes and barons ride.
They can enjoy the snowfall’s beauty and bracing wind;
To the rich they do not signify hunger and cold.
At a grand gate the riders and coaches gather,
Candles are lit in the tower and music spills out,
Happy guests press knee to knee,
Warmed by wine they open their fur coats
To show off silk linings and silver buttons.
The host is a high dignitary of the Punishments Board,
The guest of honour is the Minister of Justice.
It was dusk when the feasting and music began,
Now it is past midnight, and the revel continues.
What do they care that in the gaol tonight
The prisoners are freezing to death?
61
Yesterday the villagers pitched a tent on the green,
Brought their hogs and calves to sell;
Their wives laid out cakes and flower displays,
And when dusk fell they lit a bonfire
To roast a pig on a spit,
Lifting their beer mugs, talking quietly while the spit turned,
Themselves turning over gossip and old news.
In the strong firelight they ate when the roast was ready,
Faces gleaming,
And in the shadows the fiddler tuned his fiddle for the revel to come.
62
This isolated hilltop has been dear to me always.
And this hedge also, that draws a line under the sky.
Sitting, looking, I wonder idly
What is beyond the horizon: and I imagine
Great silences, infinite spaces,
Unearthly stillness. Then for a while I am not afraid.
I hear the wind breathing in the trees,
And it is the voice of that distance,
Calling to mind the idea of time without time,
The dead ages past and mute,
The unbounded present ever arriving
With tumult and noise. My thoughts
Founder in those immensities;
And it is sweet to sink and drown in them.
63
The days of my youth are long over,
Now the days of my prime dwindle in their turn.
With what sad regrets I walk again
In this cold deserted place!
In the middle of the garden I stand alone,
The moonlight blanching the paths,
The wind cold and damp, leaving frosted dews
On the autumn lettuce, tangled and gone to seed.
The orchard trees are withered too;
All that is left are chrysanthemums
Newly opened under the wattle fence.
I had brought wine and a cup, and meant to drink;
But the sight of these stayed my hand.
I remember how quickly my moods could change
From sad to gay when I was young;
If I had wine, no matter what season:
Even before I tasted it my heart grew glad.
But now that age approaches, moments of gladness
Are harder and harder to get. I fear that when I am old
Not even the fiercest liquor will comfort me.
Therefore I ask you, chrysanthemums, why you bloom so late:
Though I know well that it is not for my sake. Yet,
Reminded by you, I will forget age and sorrow for this while,
And drink a cup to you.
64
What can this mean? What a strange new life!
What could disturb you so? I no longer know you,
Heart, now that you are overtaken like this,
Old loves, old griefs forgotten, new turbulence instead:
Are you caught by the beautiful youth whose eyes,
Shining at you, prevent you from running away,
Even though you cry out: Let me go! Let me go!
It is the thread which cannot be untied that leads you back,
Every path leads back, you are held fast: what a change!
How old must you grow before this kind of enchantment
No longer catches you, but leaves you free?
65
Come to the dance with me, fair one, come:
The dance crowns the feast day when evening falls.
If you are not my love, yet still you can be,
And if you will be, come, dance with me.
Without you what would a feast day be?
If you love me, all life is feasting:
Without you what would a dance be?
Come dance with me;
Let us spin in the dance, let us steal dizzied away
To whisper in the evening woods:
Come love, dance with me,
Come crown the feast with dance, and love.
66
You see how the high hills stand out white with snow,
And the struggling trees can scarcely bear the load
Of deep drifts on their branches. The river
Is frozen with sharp ice, even the air cracks with cold.
Pile on the logs, build the fire higher,
Bring out the two-handled jug:
Leave everything to its own devices,
The razor-edged wind fighting the heaving sea,
The trees shaking and snapping under their glittering burden;
Do not ask about tomorrow, but count the time as profit,
And give your thoughts to youth’s enjoyments:
The dances in the square, the laughter of a girl
Hiding in a secret corner, which gives her away:
And a pledge snatched from her willing fingers
Which pretend reluctance, but brush your fingers with fire
When they touch.
67
The man caught in the open sea longs for calm.
He is filled with fear when a cloud obscures the moon,
And the stars’ sure gleam is lost to view.
Why ambition, when life is so short?
Why trade peace of mind for these ventures,
Our homes for other suns, our rest for arduous strife?
Spoiling care climbs the bronze side of ships,
It hunts the cavalry, swifter than stags
Or the east wind that hurries the clouds before it:
Every hero fell at the throw of its quivering lance.
It is like the bolt of lightning that splits the oak,
And sets the forests to raging fire in summer’s drought.
None escapes who leaves his rural home
Where his cattle meditate and his sheep quietly graze;
Who keeps warm in winter with a wool doublet
Twice dipped in home dye;
Who eats the bread he baked from corn he milled,
Scorning the envious crowd.
68
Gold loves to go through gates and walls,
It defies armed guards and watchmen,
Money throws down gates, unbolts doors,
Brings battlements and fortifications crumbling down.
Bribes sink ships, win wars, unseat the mighty.
Worry and vexed ambition follow money,
Appetite for wealth grows hungrier with feeding.
Yet the more one denies oneself, the more one gains.
Unencumbered, I seek out the camps of th
ose who desire nothing;
A deserter, I hasten away from the side of wealthy men,
Whose comparison makes me poor: for I am wealthy myself
In the absence of my wants,
Rich in already being satisfied.
I have a stream of clear water, a wood of a few acres,
My harvest and milch cows, and my bleating sheep;
Each morning I find eggs in the straw.
I expand my revenues by shrinking my desires,
And live the emperor of my domain.
69
Let us love that we may live:
Let us judge the old women’s gossip
Less worth than a broken jar.
Let the sun rise and set and rise again;
When its brief warmth has left us
We must huddle in the earth
An endless night. So kiss me:
Give me a thousand kisses
Then a hundred kisses
Then a thousand kisses more:
When we have kissed many thousand kisses
We will be beyond the jealousy
Of those who do not know
How many kisses we shared.
70
She is here! She stays, she has promised!
Banish discontent; I have won;
She could not resist my entreaties longer.
Let joy drive out envy:
She has ceased to travel foreign roads,
She says home is best, exchanging
Wide kingdoms for this narrow bed with me.
I did not persuade her with gold or Indian pearls,
But with poetry.
Now my feet tread the stars; I walk the heavens.
She stays: she, the rare, is mine!
71
I was often hurt by your inconstancy,
Yet I never expected betrayal.
See how mistaken I was! Yet when I ask,
You respond in such slow evasive terms.
You raise your brush calmly to your tresses,
And idly examine your looks in the glass.
You go on decorating your breasts with Eastern jewels,
Like a beautiful woman preparing for a new lover.
Alas! is this where it ends?
So Calypso felt when the Ithacan voyager left,
Weeping long ago to the unfeeling waves,
Mourning many months with loosened hair,
Blaming the unkind sea that took him away:
And even though she would never see him again,
Still she grieved, thinking of the happiness they shared.
So Dido lamented, at the same waves and ocean winds