Love’s Service

When the prize to the net of Zulaikha came,
Heaven struck its coin in her happy name.
The care of Yusuf was now her task,
And no higher joy would the lady ask.
Silk embroidered with gold and brocade
To suit his stature her care arrayed.
Gold- wrought coronets, studded zones
Bright with the lustre of precious stones ;
For each day of the year a new dress to wear
She saw provided, and ceased from her care.
When the breath of morning was fresh with dew,
With a bright fresh robe to his side she flew.
When the Lord of the East with red gold was crowned,
With a new gold circlet his brow she bound.
Each day that the cypress upreared his pride,
In varied fashion his zone she tied.
Changed each morning that sunlight shone
Stealing the heart that it looked upon.
Never two days might the same crown press
The head of that cypress of loveliness.
Never, though sweet as the sugar-cane,
Might he wear the same girdle like it again.
With a thousand kisses she cried, as she set
On his temples a glittering coronet :
“ May the dust of thy feet he to me for a crown
Tor a ladder to climb the tall height of renown
When over his shoulders his robe she drew,
She communed thus with the vest anew:
“ Oh that this body of mine might be,
To cling to his body, one thread of thee ! ”
The shawl she folded about his breast
In amorous words like these was addressed :
“ Ah, how I long for that cypress-tree,
To be folded close to his heart like thee ! ”
When round his waist she adjusted the zone,
In these wild words was her passion shown :
“ Ah, that mine arms were that girdle to fold
The waist of my love in their clinging hold ! ”
When she combed the locks of his curling hair,
She found a balm for her sorrow there.
But ah, from its amber she wove and set,
To tangle her soul in its meshes, a net.
For breakfast and supper he might not leave
The lady’s chamber at morn and eve.
Ever supplied by her tender care
With varied, dishes of daintiest fare.
Sweet sugar-candy his lips supplied,
And his teeth were the kernels that almonds hide.
The fairest fruit that the summer brings in
'Was that silver apple, his rounded chin.
Now, like her heart as it burnt in the flame,
She gave him the breast of some winged game.
Now soft fruits which her care had dried,
Sweet as her lips were, her hand supplied.
She made him sherbet with sugar sweet ;
But a flush came o’er her and drops of heat.
Whate’er he might fancy, as swift as the thought
Of her own fond bosom, Zulaikha brought.
When the day was done and he fain would close
His weary eyelids in soft repose,
A coverlet dainty and gay was spread
O’er the silk and brocade of his sumptuous bed.
Covered with roses the young rose-spray
Pillowed on tulip and jessamine lay.
Then many a story with magic spell,
To clear the dust from his soul, would she tell.
When slumber a veil o’er his heavy eyes drew
She watched in her fever the whole night through,
Feeding the while on his beauty’s lawn
Her pair of wild roes till the light of dawn.
Her eyes.
O’er his eyes like the sleeping narcissus she bent
And inhaled with rapture the young bud’s scent.
Now on a tulip her fingers would close,
Now from the rose-bed she gathered a rose.
Then she would look on his hair and say :
“ O hair beloved of grace’s rose-spray.
Tears of blood from my sad eyes well
Because thou, a Dev, with a Peri wilt dwell!”
Thus in her passion she made lament.
Till the long night, black as her hair, was spent.
Ever busied in cares like these,
Her day and night passed without rest or ease.
Her constant thought to his wants she gave,
And, queen of the house, was his humble slave.
Ah ! fond and weak is a lover, fain
To toil that the loved one be spared a pain.
If dust or a thorn in his love’s path lie,
He would sweep it away with the lash of his eye,
And will wait with his soul in that eye for her
To bond a kind look on her worshipper.