The Garden

The singer continues the story told
By saintly lips in the days of old.
'What time Zulaikha enamoured hung
On the sugared accents of Yusufs tongue,
The loveliest garden was hers ; the breast
Of jealous Irani its charms confessed.
Fountains watered the wall-girt ground,
And dark red roses shed perfume round.
The boughs of the trees in that pleasant place
Were twined like lovers in fond embrace.
The plane-tree’s foot touched the cypress’s skirt,
Whose neck with its amulet arms was girt.
The rose lay couched on her leafy bed,
And the pine reared a tent for her languid head.
A plain prepared for the orange tree lay,
Beady with ball and with stick for play.
In that garden of bliss where no ill might befall
It might win from all comers the victor’s ball.
The date-palm reared her slim height and lent
The garden her heightening ornament :
Each golden cluster a store most sweet
Which the broken-hearted for balm might eat.
The milk from the ripe figs was ready to burst
If the garden’s young nurslings, the birds, were athirst ;
And the bill of each bird was with rich pearls filled
As he sipped the sweet drops which the fruit distilled.
When the light of the noonday sun was shed
Through the latticed green of the boughs outspread,
The earth beneath them was light and dusk
With a mingled treasure of gold and musk.
The flickering gleams o’er the shadows played
Like bells for the drums of the roses swayed.
The wakeful nightingale saw them swing,
And emulous lifted his voice to sing.
In wind and shadow the bright fish gleamed
Where rivulets under the willows streamed.
The shade of each bough like a besom lay
To sweep the dry leaves of the garden away.
The ground was a slate with its green lines set
In the silver frame of a rivulet :
A slate, to which even the wisest, to learn
The signs of our Lord the Creator, might turn.
The rose, the emblem of beauty, glowed,
Or like a sad lover her, pale cheek showed.
The zephyr loosened the spikenard’s braid,
And, curling her leaves, with the violet played.
Tulip, jasmine, and basil embraced in their mirth,
And like delicate silk was the verdure of earth.
In the garden of bliss were two fountains, graced
With the fairest marble-like crystal, placed.
Each like the other in form and size,
They were near together like beautiful eyes.
Smooth was the marble ; its polished face
Showed of the chisel and saw no trace.
Ne’er could the eye of the keenest see
Where the joint of the separate slabs might be.
None who saw them forbore the thought
That of one solid piece the whole work was wrought.
When Zulaikha went to her garden to find
Rest and delight for her troubled mind,
One brimming fountain — for so she willed —
With milk, and the other with honey they filled ;
And the maidens who followed that bright moon fed
On milk or honey as fancy led.
And between them both was a throne, a seat
Eor a darling of Heaven like Yusuf meet.
Hither she sent him. Her heart was rent,
But she forced her will to a slow consent.
The nightingale sang to the morning air :
“ A fair gardener comes to a garden fair.
The garden is heaven itself, ’tis well
That the warder of Paradise here should dwell.”
A hundred maidens all pure within,
Stood round him with bosoms of jessamine,
Planted like cypresses tall and still,
Eager to serve ere he spoke his will.
“ Sweet,” said Zulaikha, “ all these are thine ;
Let thy youthful heart to their love incline.
If for thy love I must sigh in vain —
A thought that poisons my days with pain —
Love, if thou wilt, these fair maidens : he
Kinder to them than thou art to me.
Love and be happy ; remember this.
The days of youth are the days of bliss.”
Then she said to the maidens assembled there :
“ Sweet-lipped damsels, beware, beware !
Toil, heart and soul, in his service, nor shrink
Prom poison itself if he bid you drink.
Whate’er he may order with joy obey,
And cast your own lives for his sake away.
And, whoe’er be the maiden who wins his heart,
The tidings first to mine ear impart.”
She spoke impatient, and, all untrue,
On the tablet of wish a false picture drew.
She would watch her time, if his love were shown,
If he fain would be with his darling alone,
Herself to his side in her stead would creep,
And the sweet, sweet fruit for herself would reap.
Neath the palm-tree’s shade she would watch and wait,
And count herself blest with a stolen date.
So Yusuf was set on the splendid seat,
And she left for tribute her heart at his feet.
She called about him that fair young crowd,
And her head in obeisance each cypress bowed.
She turned to the palace her steps : behind
With her love was her heart and her soul and her mind.
The lover is true who consents to go
Far from his love if she wills it so,
Obeys her pleasure and bears, content.
The bitter sorrow of banishment.
Parting is torture, but sorer pain
Is to live in her presence when hope is vain.