GHAZAL FOR A POETESS
Many the nights that have passed,
But I remember
The river of pearls at Fez
And Seomar whom I loved.
Laurence Hope, 1903
The corners of the frontispiece yellow from their darker edges.
Aching eyes lift in tremolo from their darker edges.
Moon lit your blood in the jasmine-blooming gardens;
bodies still glide in tableau from their darker edges.
Your "hungry soul" laps at the page with its "burning, burning";
your moans send out an echo from their darker edges.
Silk covers your arms, your fingers, your lips, your voice.
Your black lines weave a trousseau from their darker edges.
Wind strikes at the palm trees where you walked;
fronds shake like tousled arrows from their darker edges.
Your nights spread quiet over "parched and dreary" sand.
Finches fill them till they glow from their darker edges.
Many the nights that have passed,
But I remember
The river of pearls at Fez
And Seomar whom I loved.
Laurence Hope, 1903
The corners of the frontispiece yellow from their darker edges.
Aching eyes lift in tremolo from their darker edges.
Moon lit your blood in the jasmine-blooming gardens;
bodies still glide in tableau from their darker edges.
Your "hungry soul" laps at the page with its "burning, burning";
your moans send out an echo from their darker edges.
Silk covers your arms, your fingers, your lips, your voice.
Your black lines weave a trousseau from their darker edges.
Wind strikes at the palm trees where you walked;
fronds shake like tousled arrows from their darker edges.
Your nights spread quiet over "parched and dreary" sand.
Finches fill them till they glow from their darker edges.