The Messenger

In course of long sorrow Zulaikha knew
That her nurse was faithful and helpful and true.
“ Thou hast served me often,” ’twas thus she prayed ;
“ Help me again, for I need thine aid.
To him as my messenger take thy way,
Be thou mine eloquent tongue, and say :
‘ Delicate plant, ever tended with care,
Lovely with blossom but wayward as fair ;
In the garden of beauty no cypress-tree
Lifts up its head to compare with thee.
Moulded from spirit and soul was the clay
Wherein was planted thy Sidra- spray.
When the green leaves came on each growing bough,
They said : “ The fairest of trees art thou.”
Since the bride of Time was a mother, she
Was never made glad by a child like thee.
The eye of Adam was bright at thy birth.
And the bloom of thy cheek made a rosebed of earth.
For none of the children of men is so fair ;
No Peri has beauty with thine to compare.
If thy loveliness shamed not the Peris, why
Should they hide in a corner when thou art nigh ?
Angels enthroned in the heavenly height
Bend their heads to the ground when thy face is in sight.
If, by favour of Heaven, so high is thy place,
Have mercy and show thy poor captive grace.
They say that Zulaikha is witchingly fair.
Put ah, she has fallen a prey to thy snare.
She has carried from childhood the wound in her breast
Which for many long days has deprived her of rest.
In three nightly visions thy face was shown,
And no peace in her heart from that time has she known.
How chained like the waves of the wind-rippled sea,
How roaming ere morn like the zephyr is she.
She is worn by her sorrow as thin as a hair.
And her longing for thee is her only care.
All the gold of her life for thy sake has she spent ;
Have pity at last : it is sweet to relent.
Pure and fresh is the Water of Life on thy lip :
What harm if a drop from the fountain she sip ?
With full, clusters laden, what harm to allow
One taste of the fruit that hangs ripe on the bough ?
On thy ruby lip let her feed her fill,
And perhaps the wild storm of her breast will be still.
Let her pluck the dates from that palm-tree’s height.
Or lay down her head where thy foot may light.
What wilt thou lose of thy rank, my king,
If thine eye one glance on thy servant fling ?
In all the pride of her station, she
The least of thy handmaids would gladly be.’ ”
He heard the speech. In reply to the dame
From his ruby lips opened this answer came :
“ Skilled in the secrets thou knowest so well,
Cheat not my soul with thy ravishing spell.
The slave of Zulaikha and bought with her gold,
My debt for her kindness can never be told.
To this stately mansion she raised my clay,
And nurtured my soul and my life each day.
If I counted her favours my whole life through,
I never could pay her the thanks that are due.
On the line of her pleasure my head I lay.
And I wait ever ready to serve and obey.
But warn her never to hope that I
My God’s commandment will break and defy.
Ne’er let her tempt me in hope to win
The soul, which I strive to keep pure to sin.
I am called his son by the Grand Vizier ;
He counts me true and my love sincere.
Shall I, the young bird whom his care has bred,
Bring shame on the house where I long have fed ?
God in various natures has sown the seeds
Of divers wishes and thoughts and deeds.
The pure in nature will fear disgrace ;
But base are his actions whose birth is base.
Can a dog be born of a woman ? Where
Does barley wheat or wheat barley bear ?
In my bosom the secrets of J acob dwell.
And my heart keeps the wisdom of Gabriel.
Am I worthy of prophethood ? Well I know
To holy Isaac that hope I owe.
A rose am I and a secret I hold ;
In Abraham’s garden my petals unfold.
May sin never drive me — forbid it, God ! —
Aside from the path which my fathers trod.
Bid Zulaikha spurn the wild thought, and free
Her own kind heart from the sin, and me.
My trust in the God whom I serve is sure
To keep my life undefiled and pure.”