The First Vision

Sweet as the morning of life, the night
Was filled like the springtide of youth with de-
Each bird was asleep, and each fish in the rill,
And even the stream of event was still.
In this garden, the joy of uncounted eyes,
All were at rest save the stars in the skies.
Night had hushed the tongue of the tinkling bell,
And stolen the sense of the sentinel.
His twisted tail, as he curled him round,
Was a collar to choke the voice of the hound.
The bird of night had no power to sing,
For his reed was cut with the sword of his wing.
The drowsy watchman scarce raised his eye,
And the palace dome, where it rose on high,
Wore, as his senses had well-nigh fled,
The form of a monstrous poppy-head.
The drummer ceased, and his hand, o’ercome
By the might of slumber, lay still on the drum,
Ere the loud-voiced Muezzin calling to prayer
Had rolled up the beds of the sleepers there.
Her narcissus eyes in deep slumber closed,
Sweetly the sweet-lipped Zulaikha reposed.
Tresses of spikenard her pillow pressed,
And the rose of her limbs strewed the couch of her rest,
While the hair dishevelled on that fair head
Wrote on the rose with each silken thread.
The outward eye of the maiden slept,
But the eye of her spirit its vigil kept ;
And she saw before her a fair youth stand —
Nay, ’twas a being from spirit-land :
From the world of glory, more lovely far
Than the large-eyed damsels of Paradise are ;
For his face made their beauty and glances dim,
And their glances and beauty were stolen ' from him.
His form like a sapling was straight and tall,
And the cypress-tree was, to him, a thrall.
His hair, a beautiful chain to bind
The heart of the wisest, flowed unconfined.
The sun and the moon confessed with shame
That a purer light from his forehead came.
The arch of the mosque where the holy bow,
Or the canopy made for their rest, was his brow.
His eyes, where the tint of the surma was new,
With a dart from each lash pierced the bosom through,
And the pearls, when the rubies apart were drawn.
Were as lightning’s flash through the red of dawn.
Zulaikha saw, and a moment — one —
Was too much, for the maid was for ever undone.
One glance at that loveliest form, which passed
Men, and Peris, and Houris, she cast.
And to that sweet face and those charms a slave
Her heart — nay, a hundred hearts — she gave.
Prom the visional form she would never forget
The plant of love in her breast was set.
Lit by the light of his beauty, the flame
Zulaikha’s patience and faith o’ercame.
She tied her heartstrings to each hair of that head
Whence the precious odour of amber was shed.
The tears welled forth from her eyes in a flood,
And those orbs, as she slumbered, were flecked with blood.
The mole on that fair face was still in her view,
And she burned in the fire of his love like rue.
That rounded throat was her constant pain,
And that chin a sweet apple she longed to gain.
O marvellous beauty ! The shape had fled,
But the love grew stronger which fancy fed.
Weary of self had the maiden grown,
And could find her rest in that form alone.