Transcriber's Note:

The cover was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

SONNETS FROM HAFEZ
& other verses

BY

ELIZABETH BRIDGES

HUMPHREY MILFORD

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW COPENHAGEN

NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN

BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS SHANGHAI PEKING

1921

PRINTED IN ENGLAND

AT THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

BY FREDERICK HALL

NOTE

The last fifteen pieces in this book, which are founded on odes of Hafez, are not translations. Their aim is rather to convey if possible something of the original spirit than to give a faithful rendering of either thought or form; & I have not scrupled to omit, insert, alter or even deliberately to pervert the idea as fancy or feeling dictated. Some of the poems follow the Persian fairly closely (especially nos. 30, 31, 34, & 35); others are merely founded on or suggested by one or two couplets.

No. 4 was suggested by a Persian dialect quatrain by Baba Tahir.

The remainder are original.

E. B.

Chilswell,

Sept. 1920.

TO

A. A. D.

1

When sunlight faileth,

& day’s glow is gone;

When chill mist traileth

Where warm splendour shone;

When summer’s pleasure

Dieth,—dieth too

The transient treasure

That with life up-grew

& none may herit,

Where then wilt thou turn,

O vagrant spirit,

That no home didst earn;

When none replieth

Of thy friends so true,

When sweet Joy crieth

‘Adieu, love, adieu!’

2

I called to fading day

As o’er the hill she flew,

‘Whither, glad light, away?

Take me, O take me too!’

She said, ‘O wingless one,

Thou hast thy memoried sun’.

I said to the droop’d rose

Awhile that was so fair,

‘Why dost so swiftly lose,

Sweet grace, thy blooming air?’

She said, ‘This is my doom;

Cherish thou beauty’s tomb’.

I cried to Joy as late

I stood, bidding farewell,

‘Must this be too thy fate

Whom I have loved so well?

He said, ‘My gift I leave

With her whom I bereave’.

3

O youth’s young cloudlet, O freshness free,

With heart so light on the winds to fly

Or glisten in spray up-scatter’d,—I

Am sad as the full surgings of the sea;

I gave thee birth, thou shalt return to me.

Thy heart is light as the empty wind

Of barren purposeless change,—but I

Am the thought-burden’d slow-searching mind:

I am the agony to form & find;—

The fluxing travail of eternity.

4

Wend I, wander I, past all worlds that be;

Ever have I wander’d or e’er the earth was made;

Urg’d like the álien áir o’er land & sea,

Sleepless as sunlight, joyless as its shade.

Not on your earth travel I; sáy not to mé

‘Cease awhile thy wandering, Ó tir’d day!’

Say not, ‘O pilgrim, rest thee; comfort thee’:

Not hére is my journey’s end, Indus nor Cathay.

5
ON A HILL

Eyes that o’er the landscape fly,

Over dale & wood & stream

To the cloud-realms of the sky;

Eyes that wander still & dream,

Hopes that ever forward press

Seeking lovelier loveliness;

All the world is yours to roam

—Searching eye & swiftling thought—

Nowhere can ye make your home;

Not where peace so vainly sought

Bower’d in the valley lies,

Nor content’s small villages;

Nor can pleasure’s garish dress

Tempt you to a mean caress

—Thoughts that will not rest nor stay—

Ever do ye tell her nay;

Still ye wander—‘Where, O say,

Lies our vision’d loveliness?’

6
AFTER MUSIC

O what availeth thee thy melting mood,

Thine ecstasy

When once again thy thralldoms o’er thee brood:

& what doth profit thee thy courage high,

& strength so fain;

So soon agen thy coward heart shall fly?

For more & stronger strife our strength shall strain,

Though hope’s best good

Be but this hope: to strive, & strive again.

7

All things born to break

In meek sacrifice

For another’s sake,

All man’s striving vain,

Lavish’d as the price

Of the heart’s hid pain—

Long, O spirit-bird,

Of thy lonely fear

Hast thou sung unheard

In hope’s moon-lit wood,

While no creature near

Knew nor understood.

8

If there be any power in passion’s prayer—

But no: such ultimate longings have no word:

There is no eloquence in last despair.

Many have voiced their pain & answer heard;

Though ’twere but this, that to give bodied form

To grief, call’d their own heart to combat it:

But not ev’n thus can I pray;—thou strong storm,

All-overpowering, baffling bravest wit,

Wild spirit spurning cage of time or name,

Furious intangible fire, no duteous thought

Can deal with thee, to no calm altar-flame

Confine, nor wish acceptable,—O if aught

From such dumb need can reach aught’s hearing ear,

This is it now, O hear, O hear, O hear!

9

In love’s great ocean, whose calm-shelter’d shore

Must he for ever leave, whose soul is bound

On farthest quest, life’s wonders to explore—

That mightiest flood, all-whelming, torment-toss’d,

Wherein must ev’ry lover’s self be lost

Ere the Belovéd’s lovelier self be found—

Think not, O searcher, in that sea to find

Food for thine earth-born strength & lustful show,

Nor glorious pearl to deck thy worldly mind,

Nor isle of ease; all such doth he forego

Who, recking nought of hurt to pride or limb,

Heark’neth to love’s unchallengeable call:

Yea, who would venture, no help is for him

Save whole surrender; health, strength, life & all.

10

When sorrow hath outsoar’d our nature’s clime,

Leaving it far remote &, like a strong

Eagle lone brooding on her peak sublime,

Graspeth in solitude her towering wrong;

& no more hankereth for petty prey

Nor bleeding victim wherewithal to still

Her hunger of desolate passion, but thus aye

Sitteth, devour’d by her own vital ill,

Motionless, nerveless, where for her no sound

Of life is, only the wind’s alien

Moan that meandereth sleeplessly around

The promontory,—what saviour can then

Help helpless sorrow? What shall break that spell

Of icy death in life, that shackling Hell?

11

O gentle weariness,

Thine is the power that can all spirits free

From bonding-trouble, thou art a goddess

To all the suffering slaves of misery.

Thy sanctuary

No suppliant vainly seeketh; wheresoe’er

Desperate grief is, then unfailingly

Is thine all-hallowing rest & refuge there.

Our sorrow hath outgrown

Solace, yet still in thine all-mothering hand

Is balm of soft oblivion, who alone

Our never-ending needs dost understand.

12
1919

Peace, for whose presence did we erewhile call

With cry sincere, vowing (God knoweth, those

Prótests how passionate were) to love thee all,

Yet when thou camest, pander’d to thy foes

Weaklier than ever, now again the throes

Convulse our being; now, Peace, may’st thou see,

This lust-devoted land is not for thee.

Farewell! Small wonder is it if thou flee

Such faithlessness, yet doth thy memory still

Dwell in each place where thou hast walked with me,

In dawn’s fresh mead or by noon’s shady rill,

Or when cool evening wafteth, on our hill;

Allwheres that beauty’s comfort-laden breath

Sootheth tired sorrow till it slumbereth.

13
SONG

Beauty is a waving tree,

Beauty is a flower,

Beauty is a grassy lea

& a shady bower,

Beauty is the verdant Spring

In our hearts awakening.

Beauty is a summer sun

Warming all the land,

Whose full bounty doth o’errun

More than our demand;

Spreadeth Beauty her kind feast

Lavishly for man & beast.

Autumn’s quiet hast thou too,

Beauty, who canst feed

Every craving, known or new

Of the spirit’s need,

Laying up a lasting store

Of ripe bliss for evermore.

O true Beauty, though joy’s vain

Seasons come & go,

Thou a refuge dost remain

From all wintry woe,

Thou art still the perfect clime

Where no transience is nor time.

14

Wheresoever beauty flies,

Follow her on eager wings

Beauteous wild imaginings.

Wheresoever she may tread,

Lovely vivid flowers arise,

Springing swift as thoughts unsaid.

Living beauty, more than wise,

Fair art thou to living eyes,

Though less fair than is the dead

Myrtle-wreath that more we prize;

Relic of the one dear head

That for each it garlanded.

15

When first to earth thy gentle spirit came

From some soft climate of Elysian field,

Garmented in its own ethereal flame;

When first from heav’n’s high peace it enter’d here,

No armour had it then, nor guarding shield,

Nor sword for safety, nor attacking spear,

No pang’d misgivings suffered it, nor fear,

Seeing in every face its own sweet face,

Smiling to treachery with trustful eyes,

Finding in nature its own nature’s grace:

—So Adam in his vision’d Paradise

Saw but God’s gifts, till taste of bitter ruth

Taught him what earth’s creation is in truth:—

Now, O stern angel, none can make relent

Thy steely wrath, thy sword of punishment.

16

For sake of these two splendours do the wise

Set store on riches, & for these alone:

For these two glories only do they prize

Power & majesty of kingly throne:

Or this: to succour friendship in distress,

To comfort humble sorrow, nor despise

To cheer the joyless heart of weariness,

To guard & aid whom fortune doth oppress

That he to life’s glad kingdom be restor’d

(& thus their monument of thanks they raise

More high than pomp’s vain pinnacle of praise),

Or this: to forge therefrom a trenchant sword

Whereat shall poltroon evil cower & fly,

& smite Hell’s fiends of foulness that they die.

17

She hath not beauty, that ill-fortun’d gem

Wherewith may women dazzle men’s meek eyes

Ere they enslave, un-man & slaughter them.

Nor doth she vaunt afar her heart’s hid prize,

Nor with wide-lavish’d scent of hope allure

Ere men behold her, nor with rich disguise.

Nor hath she wit, that sword wherewith to smart

Delicate souls, with flashing stroke unsure

Of sharp misprise, wounding some gentle heart.

Yet not unlovely she, my silent rose,

That only may to true love’s eyes unclose,

Nor yet doth stintingly her smiles impart;

—But should bold evil venture, O what proud

Pitilessness hath she then, what anger loud!

18

When thou art gone, & when are gone all those

That knew thee & that loved thy living grace,

Merged in the formless flood whence all arose,

When thou hast passed, & of thy life no trace

Remaineth, nor remembrancer to say

‘Such was he, such his form, his voice, his face’,

In that new time shall rise, untouched by thee,

The eddying circles still, & pass away;

Full many a spring shall turn to winter dree,

& morn to nightfall, & life’s human day

Shall change from youth’s bright hope to darkling pain,

When thy young life in life’s hard war is slain,

When thou art gone, & I, & our strong love

Which now Time’s change doth but more changeless prove.

19
A YOUTH

Play thou on men as on a hárp’s stríng:

Though of themselves they lifeless are

In them thy spirit’s music shall ring.

Breathe thou in them as through a reed

Thy soul’s strong message, through them declare