Archives: Poems

1 
A has a wife who loves him much
  And clings to him with fervour great; 
But A 's perversity is such
  He really seems to loathe his mate. 
I, who am B, observe with pain
  A's brutal conduct and disdain.
2 
I, pining for a soul to love, 
  Procure a small fox terrier, C;
When (who can tell the springs which move
  The canine mind?) she takes to me. 
She shares my meal. Her nightly doze
  Is taken on my chest or toes.
3 
So, for three long delightful days 
  I thrill with selfish exultation;
I laud her most obtrusive ways,
  I drag her all about the station;
At office, dinner, walk, or ride, 
  I like to have her at my side.
4 
About my path, about my bed,
  Come sure and certain as the Fates,
The pattering feet, the wistful head,
  The liquid gaze that—irritates.
I fight against a growing chill;
  I strive to think I love her still.
5 
My days grow void of all delight, 
  She follows me to every place;
I cannot take my rest at night,
  She licks devotedly my face. 
The tail that wags for none but me
  Becomes a meek monotony.
6 
I make no other dog my care
  (I wish that I could tell her so),
Or wander off to places where
  A good fox terrier should not go.
I only want at times to be
  Alone with no one else but me.
7 
I do not care for winning ways
  From six A.M. till ten at night; 
I even shun her liquid gaze;
  I almost wish that she could bite. 
I cannot thrash her off—I tried.
  It bound her closer to my side.
8 
'Tis wrong to kill, 'tis vain to strike.
  I will not cast her off—as yet.
I have no reason for dislike.
  I know I ought to love my pet. 
I know I am a heartless traitor
  Which makes me more than ever hate her.

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Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, 
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, 
Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave.

Yet at the last, though the Kafirs had maimed him, 
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,
Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him, 
He called upon Allah, and died a Believer!
                                                                                        Kizibashi

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While the snaffle holds or the long-neck stings, 
While the big beam tilts or the last bell rings, 
While horses are horses to train and to race, 
Then women and wine take a second place
            For me—for me—	
            While a short 'ten-three'
Has a field to squander or fence to face.
 .

                                             Song of the G.K.

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When the earth was sick and the skies were grey, 
And the woods were rotted with rain,
The Dead Man rode through the autumn day 
To visit his love again.

His love she neither saw nor heard, 
So heavy was her shame;
And tho' the babe within her stirred
She knew not that he came.
                                                   Old Ballad

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When a Lover hies abroad 
Looking for his Love,
Azrael smiling sheathes his sword,
Heaven smiles above. 
Earth and sea
His servants be,
And to lesser compass round, 
That his love be sooner found!

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We meet in an evil land
That is near to the gates of Hell. 
I wait for thy command
To serve, to speed or withstand.
And thou sayest I do not well?

Oh, Love, the flowers so red 
Are only tongues of flame, 
The earth is full of the dead, 
The new-killed, restless dead.
There is danger beneath and o'erhead, 
And I guard thy gates in fear
Of words thou canst not hear,
Of peril and jeopardy,
Of signs thou canst not see—
And thou sayest 'tis ill that I came?

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          We be the Gods of the East— 
               Older than all—
          Masters of Mourning and Feast—
               How shall we fall?

          Will they gape for the husks that ye proffer 
               Or yearn to your song?
          And we—have we nothing to offer 
               Who ruled them so long—
ln the fume of the incense, the clash of the cymbals, 
the blare of the conch and the gong?

          Over the strife of the schools 
               Low the day burns—
          Back with the kine from the pools 
               Each one returns
To the life that he knows where the altar-flame 
glows and the tulsi is trimmed in the urns. 
                                             In Seonee

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