Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MEJNUN AND LAILI (AFTER THE PERSIC), by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MEJNUN AND LAILI (AFTER THE PERSIC), by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Drugged at the breast of anguish, nursed
Last Line: And toward the desert ran.
Subject(s): Arabia; Courts & Courtiers; Fate; Grief; Love; Man-woman Relationships; Destiny; Sorrow; Sadness; Male-female Relations


(After the Persic)

Drugged at the breast of Anguish, nursed
In Sorrow's old unnatural arms,
Daily the swart Mejnún rehearsed
Young Laili's lustrous charms.

For him his desert grew to be
Love's golden house where evermore
Madness was janitor, and he
The threshold of love's door!

The telling of his griefs oppressed
The Arabians: 'mong their youth there was
A tumult, and as men possessed
They clamoured in his cause.

Their lettered councils met: the fame
Of all thou sufferedst, saidst, and didst
For love's dear sake, Mejnún, became
A desert in their midst!

At length their Sultan spake—he too
Had plucked, whiles in love's land he paced,
Many a flower of sable hue
And fruit of haunting taste;—

'Slave, make thy head like to thy feet
In running unto Najd! Bestir!
Be as a violent wind and fleet,
And hither fetch me Her

Whose eyes such miseries have wrought!'
The stripling coursed away amain,
And in a twinkling homeward brought
That Empress in Love's reign.

Unto another slave he bent:
'Now go thou also forth and bring
Love's burning lamp, Love's ornament,
Love's heart-consuméd King!'

The boy sped and returned: he had
Strange company when back he pressed:
The wounds of separation clad
Mejnún as with a vest:

His cloak was his wild hair; 'twas spann'd
By a sharp comb of Arab thorn:
His robe was rustling desert sand:
To flint his feet were worn.

'Look up!' the Sultan cried, 'O thou,
Who hast in Sorrow's gulf been lost!
Tell me! shall I exalt thee now
At this young beauty's cost?

Become a courtier, wouldst thou not
Bask on her cheek, thy wanderings done?'
'Nay,' cried that other, ''twere to blot
With atomies the sun!

'King of high hearts, it were unjust
Thus rashly to forego our fates!
Enough if with one grain of dust
I crown me at the gates!'

—Madness austerely throned above
The desolate hollows of his eyes—
'Me the sharp pain,' he cried, 'of love
For Laili doth suffice!

'Nor do I pray that from her spheres
One ray should light this mean worn man.'
He spake, he veiled his eyes with tears,
And toward the desert ran.





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