Wonderful night, that sent to me And you a black-tressed messenger, What time we watched the Gemini Pendant in the cars of her! And our saki all the night Launched against the shadows grim His lantern, red as dawning light, Never extinguished, never dim. Softly humming, cheeks aglow, Slender his stature, slim and fine, Thick-lashed eyelids, drooping low With the burden of the wine. The brimming liquor, tremulous, Scarcely leaves him with a hand; So constantly he bows to us, Scarcely has he strength to stand. They say, 'He is a lissom reed Waving on a sandy dune'; Know they not a dune indeed, Do they forget a reed so soon? For our bed, to couch us in, The garments of the wine we take; The harsh shadows tear its skin Our warm coverlet to make. Passionate heart to passionate Heart draws nigh, and lip to lip Presses; for hearts are yearning yet, And mouths would honeyed kisses sip. I beg you, rouse his idle cup And bid his sleepy eyelids wake; The drowsy flagon tumbles up, Mindful our dry throats to slake. Darkness has already snapped A stretch of his constricting chain; Night's army stands to order, apt To contend with dawn again. The stars that crown the Pleiades Turn their backs on all the land And vanish; gleaming righs are these On fingers of a hidden hand. And in their wake Aldebaran Lumbers on his plodding way Like a laden journeyman, Whose beasts are spirited astray. Yonder shining Sirius Advances with more urgent stride, Spurring on impetuous His steed Mirzam at his side. And his sister from behind Ere the rising of the day Hurries to him, to unwind Their veil that is the Milky Way. She fears the Lion's dreadful roar As he flashes through the night, Nathra, his muzzle, thrust before, And rends the darkness at a bite. Yet, it seems, the Fishes Twain Swimming broadly down the sky Make to clutch him by the mane, And undertake that he shall die: One, the Lancer, aims his dart And strikes, until his lifeblood drips; Unarmed, the other in his heart Raging, gnaws his finger-tips. Ursa's stars, methinks, are roes Of Wajra, searching till the dawn A wide wilderness, where those Seek their lost and straying fawn. And Canopus on the rim Of his horizon, torn apart From a loved friend, finds after him No other, to console his heart. Dim Suha, that wasted swain With his visitors, this night Now is visible, again And again is lost to sight. Aloft the Pole-star, cavalier Supreme, with pennants twain arrayed, Very scornful seems to peer At the stars' slow cavalcade. Aquila, his pinions clipped, Drops vertiginous through the skies; His wings, no more feather-tipped, Fail him, and he cannot rise. His brother, wheeling yet on wing Sublime, unwearied to the prey, Suddenly appears to spring And snatches half the moon away. Night, circumferenced in profound Darkness, black as ebony, Presently is swathed around In purple weave of majesty. As her shadows now decline Swaying slantwise o'er the earth, Meseems she passed the night with wine And staggers in her drunken mirth. Dawn, lifting up his pole of light, Is a Turkish monarch, who Challenges that Ethiop night, And he vanishes from view. The sun's standard fluttering Is Jaafar, my Lord-Emperor Who, looking on a rival king, Only laughs, and laughs the more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM by RICHARD ALDINGTON PARAGRAPHS: 16 by HAYDEN CARRUTH CAESAR'S LOST TRANSPORT SHIPS by ROBERT FROST PEACE (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PERSPECTIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |