To Rabbi Isaac the Orphan

Earth, like a little child, was sucking
But yesterday the rains of winter, with a cloud for nurse;
Or she was a bride prisoned by the winter,
Whose soul was yearning for the times of love.
She longed for the wooing-time until the summer came,
And then the longing heart was healed.
With raiment of golden terraces and broidered work of linen, she is like a maiden
Delighting, revelling in her fair attire;
Each day she maketh changes in her broideries
And apportioneth apparel unto all about her.
From day to day she changeth the colours of her plants
From hue of pearl to sard and emerald.
White is she now and green, and now she is red;
She is like a fair one kissing her beloved.
So beautiful are her flowers that meseemeth
She hath robbed the very stars on high.
The garden of her plants have we sought early
With the daughter of the vine, that burneth with flames of love—
Cold as the cold snow in the hand of him that holdeth her,
But within him she is like a kindling fire:
Out of an earthen vessel she riseth like the sun;
We bring a cup of onyx and she is poured forth.
With her we walk under the shadows, about
The garden that laugheth through the weeping of the showers;
That rejoiceth while the tears of the clouds are on her face,
Like a sprinkling of crystals scattered from a necklace;
That is glad for the swallow's voice, as for sweet wine,
And the voice of the dove cooing and taking sweet counsel,
Singing through her leaves as a maiden singeth
Through her veil, leaping and flitting to and fro.
My soul seeketh eagerly for the morning wind,
For therein it embraceth the perfume of the beloved—
The wind that playeth with the myrtle to make it waft
Its perfume to them that love, but are very far away.
And the myrtle boughs rise proudly aloft and bend low,
And the palm branches clap their hands at the singing of the birds,
Waving and bowing before the face
Of Isaac, and the whole world laughing with his name;
For she said, “Hath not God made me to laugh
Since I take fast hold of the cords of Isaac?”
I speak, add none denieth my words, in praise
Of his honour; and every ear that hearkeneth consenteth.
The fame of all princes is divided between good and evil,
Yet surely is his name only good without dissent.
How sweet to mine ear to hear of him
While my soul is busied in remembering him;
Aye, beholding his likeness, it addeth the more—
Even twofold praise, re-echoing the song.
Of thee, O lordly Isaac, my tongue shall sing
Glowing words, flowing songs without pause;
For I make a covenant with thee, for the days of my life,
That my tongue shall not be silent from thy praise.
Which shall I set first of thy praises,
Since thy soul is joined to every honour?
With thee do noble thoughts pitch their tents;
Unto thee understanding calleth a camp together.
Thy soul hath taken her fill of the love of knowledge
And penetrateth unto the last secret;
For she hath found her a nest in thy heart,
Delighting herself in thee and leaning upon thee.
Therefore be fruitful and multiply and give as heritage to thy seed
The spirit of nobleness which is thine and the liberal hand;
And see children’s children unto thy children, and may a cloud
Be pouring forth mercy upon them.