The Cottage of Reeds

A cottage of reeds had she built by the side
Of the way where Yusuf was wont to ride ;
And with reeds that uttered a plaintive sound
Like the voice of a flute, she had fenced it round.
Whenever she uttered her wail and cry,
Each reed in concert gave sigh for sigh.
When the fire of absence consumed her, the seeds
Of the wild flame fell on the pitying reeds.
Heart-broken she dwelt in that but, nor stirred
From the place where she lay like a wounded bird.
Yet the thought of her love was so sweet a pain
That each reed was to her like a sugar-cane.
In his stalls had Yusuf a fairy steed,
A courser through space of no earthly breed ;
Swift as the heavens, and black and white
With a thousand patches of day and night ;
How a jetty spot, now a starry blaze,
Like Time with succession of nights and days.
With his tail the heavenly Virgo’s hair,
With his hoof the moon, was afraid to compare.
Each foot with a golden new moon was shod,
And the stars of its nails struck the earth as he trod.
When his hoof smote sharp on the rugged flint
A planet flashed forth from the new moon’s dint ;
And a new moon rose in the sky when a shoe
Erom the galloping foot of the courser flew.
Like an arrow shot through its side in the chase,
He outstripped the game in the deadly race.
At a single bound he would spring, unpressed,
With the lightning’s speed from the east to the west.
As he lifted the dust with his foot the wind
Of the rushing tempest was left behind.
If the road he traversed was dank and wet,
On his coat you would see not a drop of sweat.
But oft would his paces be gentle and slow,
As the big drops combine till the torrents flow.
How, a flying treasure, away would he dash
O’er the plain, untouched by the snake of the lash.
Had he loved to rest in his quiet stall.
The heavens had served him, a careful thrall ;
Had quenched his thirst from the fount of the sun,
With the urn of the moon, when his course was run.
They had fed him with Virgo’s gold barley, and hay
Gleaned from the field of the Milky Way.
A sieve for his use they had bidden prepare,
Each year and month, of a comet’s hair ;
And the birds who sing praise at the break of morn
Erom the Lote tree had flocked to pick stones from his corn.
On his back for a saddle the Scales had been flung,
And a new moon each side for his stirrup hung.
When Yusuf mounted, the moon bestrode
The Scales his saddle and forth he rode.
At the touch of that thigh the proud courser neighed,
And his thoughts no more from the journey strayed.
The neigh of the charger rang clear and loud,
And the drum of departure was shouts from the crowd;
And like planets grouped round the moon a ring
Of courtiers gathered about their king.
Erom her cottage of reeds came Zulaikha out
When she knew of his coming and heard them shout.
In grief and anguish of heart by the side
Of the road he would travel she sate and cried.
When the host that preceded his courser was near
Loud rang the voices of boys with a cheer :
“ Look, Yusuf himself, whom the sun in the sky
And the bright moon envy, is nigh, is nigh.”
Zulaikha answered : “ Mine eyes are blind,
But no trace of Yusuf ’mid these I find.
Mock me not, darlings ! oh, spare me the pain,
No breath from Yusuf has reached my brain.
The musk of Tartary scents the place
That is blest with the light of his lovely face,
And when he sits in his litter, thence
A precious perfume pervades the sense.”
Nearer and nearer, ’mid loud' acclaim,
Of hearts that were jubilant, Yusuf came.
They called to Zulaikha — “ The guards are nigh,
But no trace of Yusuf has met our eye.”
“Strive not to deceive me,” Zulaikha replied;
“ My darling’s coming ye may not hide.
Can the coming of one who was born to wield
The sceptre of sway o’er each soul be concealed ?
The breath of his fragrance gives life to the whole
Of this world of ours and each single soul ;
And the presence of him who gives life is made known
To the poor thirsty soul that must perish alone.”
"When Zulaikha, long buried in darkness and gloom,
Heard the shout of the escort, “Make room, make room!”
A loud cry she uttered : “ Bejected, forlorn,
A long age of absence my spirit has borne.
I can suffer no more : I have had my full share :
Loss of patience is now the sole loss I may bear.
Bar better, for ever excluded from bliss,
To fly from myself than to linger like this.”
Thus cried Zulaikha, then sank and lay
Unconscious awhile, all her senses astray.
That cup of unconsciousness still she kept,
As, oblivious of self, to her cottage she crept.
Then rose the shrill wail as her sad heart bled,
And the reeds sighed in tune with the strain she
Thus passed in her sorrow the time away,
And this was the task of each mournful day.