She felt as though some magic and strong gentleness were touching her lips in spite of her will, and with a serene and charming voice she said, “Ishtar has restored both of our spirits to this life from another, so we may not be denied the joy of Love and the glory of Youth, my beloved.”

Ali closed his eyes, as if her musical voice brought to him images of a dream he had seen, and he felt an invisible pair of wings carrying him from that place and depositing him in a strange chamber by the side of a bed upon which lay the corpse of a maiden whose beauty had been claimed by Death. He cried fearfully, then opened his eyes and found that same maiden sitting by his side, and upon her lips appeared a smile. Her eyes shone with the rays of Life. Ali’s face brightened and his heart was refreshed. The phantom of his vision withdrew slowly until he forgot completely the past and its cares. The two lovers embraced and drank the wine of sweet kisses together until they became intoxicated. They slumbered, wrapped between each other’s arms, until the last remnant of the shadow was dispersed by the Eternal Power which had awakened them.

*The Hosseinese are groups comprising an Arabian tribe, at present living in tents pitched in the plains surrounding the ruins of Baalbek. (Editor’s note.)

Between Night and Morn

Between Night and Morn

BE SILENT, my heart, for the space cannot

Hear you; be silent, for the ether is

Laden with cries and moans, and cannot

Carry your songs and hymns.

Be silent, for the phantoms of the night

Will not give heed to the whispering of

Your secrets; nor will the processions

Of darkness halt before your dreams.

Be silent, my heart, until Dawn comes,

For he who patiently awaits the morn

Will meet him surely, and he who loves

The light will be loved by the light.

Be silent, my heart, and hearken to my

Story; in my dream I saw a nightingale

Singing over the throat of a fiery

Volcano, and I saw a lily raising her

Head above the snow, and a naked Houri

Dancing in the midst of the graves, and

An infant playing with skulls while

Laughing.

I saw all these images in my dream, and

When I opened my eyes and looked about

Me, I saw the volcano still raging, but

No longer heard the nightingale sing;

Nor did I see him hovering.

I saw the sky spreading snow upon the

Fields and valleys, and concealing under

White shrouds the stilled bodies of the

Lilies. I saw a row of graves before

The silence of the Ages, but there was

No person dancing or praying in their

Midst. I saw a heap of skulls, but no

One was there to laugh, save the wind.

In my awakeness I saw grief and sorrow;

What became of the joy and sweetness of

My dream? Where has the beauty of my

Dream gone, and in what manner did the

Images disappear?

How can the soul be patient until Slumber

Restores the happy phantoms of hope and

Desire?

Give heed, my heart, and hear my story;

Yesterday my soul was like an old and

Strong tree, whose roots grasped into the

Depths of the earth, and whose branches

Reached the Infinite. My soul blossomed

In Spring, and gave fruit in Summer, and

When Autumn came, I gathered the fruit on

A silver tray and placed it by the

Walker’s portion of the street; and all

Who passed partook willingly and continued

To walk.

And when Autumn passed away, and submerged

His rejoicing under wailing and lamentation,

I looked upon my tray and found but one

Fruit remaining; I took it and placed it

Into my mouth, but found it bitter as gall,

And sour as the hard grapes, and I said to

Myself, “Woe to me, for I have placed a

Curse in the mouths of the people, and an

Ailment in their bodies. What have you

Done, my soul, with the sweet sap which

Your roots have sucked from the earth, and

The fragrance which you have drawn from

The sky?” In anger did I tear the strong

And old tree of my soul, with each of the

Struggling roots, from the depths of the

Earth.

I uprooted it from the past, and took

From it the memories of one thousand

Springs and one thousand Autumns, and I

Planted the tree of my soul in another

Place. It was now in a field afar from

The path of Time; and I tended it in day

And in night, saying within me, “Wakefulness

Will bring us closer to the stars.”

I watered it with blood and tears, saying,

“There is a flavour in blood, and a

Sweetness in tears.” When Spring returned,

My tree bloomed again, and in the Summer it

Bore fruit. And when Autumn came, I gathered

All the ripe fruit upon a golden plate and

Offered it in the public path, and the people

Passed but none desired my fruit.

Then I took one fruit and brought it to my

Lips, and it was sweet as the honeycomb

And exhilarating as the wine of Babylon

And fragrant as the jasmine. And I cried

Out, saying, “The people do not want a

Blessing in their mouths, nor a truth in

Their hearts, for Blessing is the daughter

Of Tears, and Truth is the son of Blood.”

I left the noisome city to sit in the shadow

Of the solitary tree of my soul, in a

Field far from life’s path.

*    *    *    *    *

Be silent, my heart, until Dawn comes;

Be silent and attend my story;

Yesterday my thoughts were a boat sailing

Amidst the waves in the sea, and moving

With the winds from one land to another.

And my boat was empty except of seven

Jars of rainbow colours; and the time

Came when I grew weary of moving about

On the face of the sea, and I said to

Myself, “I shall return with the empty

Boat of my thoughts to the harbour of the

Isle of my birth.”

And I prepared by colouring my boat yellow

Like the sunset, and green like the heart

Of Spring, and blue like the sky, and red

Like the anemone. And on the masts and

On the rudder I drew strange figures that

Compelled the attention and dazzled the

Eye. And as I ended my task, the boat of

My thoughts seemed as a prophetic vision,

Sailing between the two infinities, the

Sea and the sky.

I entered the harbour of the isle of my

Birth, and the people surged to meet me

With singing and merriment. And the

Throngs invited me to enter the city;

And they were plucking their instruments

And sounding their tambourines.

Such welcome was mine because my boat

Was beautifully decorated, and none

Entered and saw the interior of the

Boat of my thoughts, nor asked what

I had brought from beyond the seas. Nor

Could they observe that I had brought

My boat back empty, for its brilliance

Had rendered them blind. Thereupon I

Said within myself, “I have led the

People astray, and with seven jars of

Colours I have cheated their eyes.”

Thereafter, I embarked in the boat of

My thoughts, again to set sail. I

Visited the East Islands and gathered

Myrrh, frankincense and sandalwood, and

Placed them in my boat.… I roamed the

West Islands and brought ivory and ruby

And emerald and many rare gems.… I

Journeyed the South Islands and carried

Back with me beautiful armours and

Glittering swords and spears and all

Varieties of weapons.… I filled the

Boat of my thoughts with the choicest

And most precious things on earth, and

Returned to the harbour of the isle of

My birth, saying, “The people shall again

Glorify me, but with honesty, and they

Shall again invite me to enter their

City, but with merit.”

And when I reached the harbour, none

Came to meet me.… I walked the streets

Of my earlier glory but no person looked

Upon me.… I stood in the market place

Shouting to the people of the treasures

In my boat, and they mocked at me and

Heeded not.

I returned to the harbour with spiritless

Heart and disappointment and confusion.

And when I gazed upon my boat, I observed

A thing which I had not seen during my

Voyage, and I exclaimed, “The waves of

The sea have done away with the colours and

The figures on my boat and caused it to look

Like a skeleton.” The winds and the spray

Together with the burning sun had effaced

The brilliant hues and my boat looked now

Like tattered grey raiment. I could not

Observe these changes from amid my treasures,

For I had blinded my eyes from the inside.

I had gathered the most precious things on

Earth and placed them in a floating chest

Upon the face of the water and returned to

My people, but they cast me away and could

Not see me, for their eyes had been allured

By empty, shimmering objects.

At that hour I left the boat of my thoughts

For the City of the Dead, and sat in the

Midst of the trim graves, contemplating

Their secrets.

*    *    *    *    *

Be silent, my heart, until Dawn comes; be

Silent, for the raging tempest is ridiculing

Your inner whispering, and the caves of

The valleys do not echo the vibration of

Your strings.

Be silent, my heart, until Morn comes,

For he who awaits patiently the coming

Of Dawn will be embraced longingly by

Morningtide.

Dawn is breaking. Speak if you are able,

My heart. Here is the procession of

Morningtide.… Why do you not speak?

Has not the silence of the night left

A song in your inner depths with which

You may meet Dawn?

Here are the swarms of doves and the

Nightingales moving in the far portion

Of the valley. Are you capable of flying

With the birds, or has the horrible night

Weakened your wings? The shepherds are

Leading the sheep from their folds; has

The phantom of the night left strength

In you so you may walk behind them to

The green prairies? The young men and

Women are walking gracefully toward the

Vineyards. Will you be able to stand

And walk with them? Rise, my heart, and

Walk with Dawn, for the night has passed,

And the fear of darkness has vanished with

Its black dreams and ghastly thoughts and

Insane travels.

Rise, my heart, and raise your voice with

Music, for he who shares not Dawn with

His songs is one of the sons of ever-

Darkness.

The Secrets of the Heart

The Secrets of the Heart

A MAJESTIC MANSION stood under the wings of the silent night, as Life stands under the cover of Death. In it sat a maiden at an ivory desk, leaning her beautiful head on her soft hand, as a withering lily leans upon its petals. She looked around, feeling like a miserable prisoner, struggling to penetrate the walls of the dungeon with her eyes in order to witness Life walking in the procession of Freedom.

The hours passed like the ghosts of the night, as a procession chanting the dirge of her sorrow, and the maiden felt secure with the shedding of her tears in anguished solitude. When she could not resist the pressure of her suffering any longer, and as she felt that she was in full possession of the treasured secrets of her heart, she took the quill and commenced mingling her tears with ink upon parchment, and she inscribed:

“My Beloved Sister,

“When the heart becomes congested with secrets, and the eyes begin to burn from the searing tears, and the ribs are about to burst with the growing of the heart’s confinement, one cannot find expression for such a labyrinth except by a surge of release.

“Sorrowful persons find joy in lamentation, and lovers encounter comfort and condolence in dreams, and the oppressed delight in receiving sympathy. I am writing to you now because I feel like a poet who fancies the beauty of objects whose impression he composes in verse while being ruled by a divine power.… I am like a child of the starving poor who cries for food, instigated by bitterness of hunger, disregarding the plight of his poor and merciful mother and her defeat in life.

“Listen to my painful story, my dear sister, and weep with me, for sobbing is like a prayer, and the tears of mercy are like a charity because they come forth from a living and sensitive and good soul and they are not shed in vain.