The Palace-Roof

Night o’er the lover a soft veil throws
To lighten the pang of his bitterest woes,
And brings him many a counsel that lay
Lost in the toil of the bustling day.
As her nightly sorrow grew less and less,
And her anguish lost some of its bitterness,
The day returning her pangs renewed,
And the hundred woes of her solitude.
Her road to the prison by day was barred,
And away from that prison her life was hard.
Some costly trifle each morn she laid
In the willing hand of her trustiest maid,
And instead of herself she commissioned her
To look on the face of the prisoner.
When from her errand the maid returned,
A thousand caresses her task had earned.
On the damsel’s foot she would rest her cheek
She would kiss her eyes and thus softly speak
“ Thy foot has been where my darling lies.
And his cheek has been seen by these happy
No kiss of mine on his eyes may he pressed ;
My cheek on his foot is forbidden to rest.
Yet this eye of thine for a moment — for this
Has looked on the eye of my love — I kiss ;
And I lay my cheek on thy feet instead,
Which have, trodden the ground which my darling’s tread.”
Then would she question the maiden : “ How
Was the glance of his eye? And his cheek? And brow ?
In his daily life is there knot or thorn ?
Is his face untroubled, or pale and worn?
Has the lonely air of the prison made
His body suffer, his roses fade ?
Did he deign to taste of the dainties I sent ?
Does he think of her whose heart he has rent ? ”
She would ask and listen ; then swift would she rise
And hasten away with her streaming eyes.
High on her house stood a turret between,
Whose pillars the roof of the prison' was seen;
There, when the hours of the night had flown,
She would close the door fast and would sit alone.
On each cheek was a ruby, a pearl in each eye,
As she gazed on the prison and said with a sigh :
“ What am I to behold his dear face ! To see
The roof where he dwells is enough for me.
Unworthy to look on. his cheek, mine eye
With those walls and that door will I satisfy.
A Paradise blooms in the dreariest walls
Wherever the light of my dear moon falls.
That roof is blest with a matchless prize,
Por the sun of the world in its shelter lies.
My back with a burthen of grief is bent
When I think of that wall where his back has leant.
Joy through that portal erect can march,
But my cypress must stoop ere he passed the arch.
Ah, happy threshold ! Ah, blest above
All others to kiss the dear feet of my love !
O joy, when that sun makes me crumble away
Into atoms scarce seen as they float in the ray,
When I leap from my window that sun to meet
And throw myself down at his lovely feet.
Ah, even the earth is more blest than I,
For his graceful feet on her bosom lie;
And the dust of the path which his footsteps stir,
Clings to his skirt and falls sweetly on her.”
Through the weary day till the night brought ease
Such was her bondage, her words were like these.
While the light of her heart in that prison lay,
This is the story of night and day.
Still to the prison at night she went,
And by day her eyes on its roof were bent.
Day after day, week after week,
She looked on that wall and she gazed on his cheek.
She had made him a home in her heart : no care
For her life, for the world, could find entrance there.
Lost to herself she thought of him still,
From her heart’s tablet washing all good and ill.
When the call of her maidens rang loud and clear
She scarce came to herself, though she seemed to hear.
Then to those maidens she oft would say :
“ My senses are gone, ah, for ever, astray.
Attention from me it is hopeless to seek ;
Touch me and shake me before you speak.
I may come to myself, by your touches stirred ;
Mine ear may be opened, your message heard.
My heart is with him in the prison : hence
Springs all the trouble that steals my sense.
She in whose bosom that fair moon lives,
No care and no thought to another gives.”
Fierce fever followed her heart’s wild pain,
And the point of the lancet must open a vein.
They who stood round saw each blood-drop spell
A letter of Yusufs name as it fell.
This word on the ground, so that all might note,
The lancet-reed of the surgeon, wrote.
So full of her love were the vein and the skin
That nothing save Yusuf might dwell therein.
Blest is the lover whose soul has fraught
The zephyr of love with no selfish thought ;
Whose heart is so full of its darling, there
No room may be for a single hair ;
Whose absolute love through each vein is spread,
In each drop of his blood, in each hair of his head ;
Who forgets his own form and his features, knows
No love of friends and no hatred of foes ;
Who bids farewell to the world, looks down
With scorn on ambition and throne and crown.
If he utters a word ’tis to her that he speaks,
And would win for her only each thing that he seeks.
He recks not of self, and, in all he desires.
His love for his darling each thought inspires.
His former self he has thrown aside,
And each thought is ennobled and purified.
Else, Jami, thou ! A new life begin ;
Seek the mansion eternal and enter in.
Thou knowest the way which thy feet should tread :
Ne’er the path of the sluggard to bliss hath led.
Quit self and this being for ever : set
Thy feet no more in the worldling’s net.
Once thou wast not, and no loss was thine :
Now be rich for ever, this life resign.
Seek not thy bliss in thyself ; refrain
From the fruitless hope that will bring no gain.