Born in 1865, she was educated in England. At age 16 she
joined her father in India, where she spent most of her adult life. In
1889 she married Col. Malcolm H. Nicolson, a man twice her age. But thou; Alas, what can I do for thee? From carven walls above me, smile lovers; many a pair. "Oh, take this rose and love me!" But the sand is passed, and the march is done,
We are camping here to-night. They say that Love is a light thing,
A foolish thing and a slight thing,
A ripe fruit, rotten at core;
They speak in this futile fashion
To me, who am wracked with passion,
Tormented beyond compassion,
For ever and ever more. They say that Possession lessens a lover's delight,
As radiant mornings fade into afternoon. I dream of the rose-like perfume that fills your hair,
Of times when my lips were free of your soft closed eyes,
While down in the tank the waters ripple and rise
And the flying foxes silently cleave the air. To ensweeten my sleep with lies,
To dream I lie in the light of your long lost eyes,
My lips set free. Verses
You are my God, and I would fain adore You
With sweet and secret rites of other days. Yet are we one; Your gracious condescension
Granted, and grants, the loveliness I crave. I wonder, now that time has passed,
Where you will come to rest at last. You wished to leave me, told me so,--
I kissed your feet and let you go. Then, swift as a swallow heading south,
I kissed your mouth! Compel
To the heights of Heaven, the depths of Hell. I feel the strength of your fervent arms,
What matter whether it heals or harms. You ask no question, but rest content
So I am with you to take your kiss,
And perhaps I value you more for this. Take my boat to your breast, O River! Take my boat to your breast, O River! Ah, for the touch of her cool green lips,
Carry me out to Sea! Take my boat to your breast, dear River,
And carry it out to Sea! What need, what need? when did I _not_ love you,
In life, in death, when shall I not love you? And all night long, alas! Ah, my Lord the King,
How can you find it well to do this thing? Ah, would that it were our turn to wed! I see the bridegroom, King of men in truth! (Ah, my first lover, and my vanished youth!) My senses fail me. Many have feared your name, but I your beauty. Lord of my life, be gentle to my fear! The way is long and the Shrine is far,
Where my weary feet would be. There is an hour, at twilight, too heavy with memory. There is a flower that I fear, for your hair had its fragrance. I am praying that Time may teach, you, your Cruelty, me, Forgetfulness. Reminiscence of Mahomed Akram
I shall never forget you, never. Since that day
The sunset red is empty, the gold forlorn. Request
Give me your self one hour; I do not crave
For any love, or even thought, of me. Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave
And then forget for ever, utterly. Come! "The Moghra flowers that smell so sweet
When love's young fancies play;
The acrid Moghra flowers, still sweet
Though love be burnt away." "The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers,
While Youth's quick pulses play
They are so sweet, they still are sweet,
Though passion burns away." Oh, silver lake and silver night and tender silver sky! Where as the hours passed, the moon rose white and cold on high. "The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers,
So dear to Youth at play;
The small and subtle Moghra flowers
That only last a day." "Golden Eyes"
Oh Amber Eyes, oh Golden Eyes! Her face broke into flowers, red flowers at the mouth,
Her voice,--she sang for hours like bulbuls in the south. I know not where she wandered, or went in after days,
Or if her youth she squandered in Love's more doubtful ways. You knew, oh Kotri river, that love which could not last. Farewell
Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you
Against my heart for any length of days. Ah, that one night! Fate, having granted this, can give no more! Give me your lips; Ah, lovely and disloyal
Give me yourself again; before you go
Down through the darkness of the Great, Blind Portal,
All of life's best and basest you must know. Look up, look out, across the open doorway
The sunlight streams. Look at the pale, pink peach trees in our garden,
Sweet fruit will come of them;--but not for you. Some one who took last night his fill of pleasure,
As I took mine at dawn! This is only loving,
Wait till I kill you! Ah, this soft, curled hair! Surely the fault was mine, to love and leave you
Even a single night, you are so fair. Cold steel is very cooling to the fervour
Of over passionate ones, Beloved, like you. Nay, turn your lips to mine. Not quite unlovely
They are as yet, as yet, though quite untrue. Here on the cot beside you
When you, my Heart's Delight, are cold in death. "Ah, dear, delusive, distant shore,
By dreams of futile fancy gilt! "He left me soon; too soon, and sought
The stronger, earlier love again. "Why do I tell you all these things,
Baring my life to you, unsought? "Ay, let us sleep. Oh, my dearest hasten, hasten! my arms are empty, and so weary for your beauty,
I am thirsty for the music of your voice. Ah, Beloved, I had been so apt to learn,
So apt, had you only cared to teach. I dream of your luminous eyes,
Aziza whom I adore! Of the ruffled silk of your hair,
I dream, and the dreams are lies. But I love them, knowing no more
Will ever be mine of you
Aziza, my life's despair. You are all that is lovely to me,
All that is light,
One white rose in a Desert of weariness. I only live in the night,
The night, with its fair false dreams of you,
You and your loveliness. Give me your love for a day,
A night, an hour:
If the wages of sin are Death
I am willing to pay. O Aziza whom I adore,
Aziza my one delight,
Only one night, I will die before day,
And trouble your life no more. Memory
How I loved you in your sleep,
With the starlight on your hair! Aziza whom I adore,
My dust will be full of your beauty, as is the blue
And infinite ocean full of the azure sky. How sweet you were in your sleep,
With the starlight on your hair! How sweet you were in your sleep,
With the starlight, silver and sable, across your hair! "Ah, soft, delusive, purple night
Whose darkness knew no vexing moon! My senses strain, and try to clasp
Their sweetness in the air,
In vain, in vain; they only grasp
The fragrance of your hair. But I, of the night you lay in my arms:
Beauty maddens the sense like Wine! "She will speak you softly, while skies are blue,
Dear, deluded Lover of mine! "While the ways are fair she will love you well,
Dear, disdainful Lover of mine! "Though you lay at her feet the days to be,
Now no longer Lover of mine! You will understand how I cared for you,
First and only Lover of mine!" And now, who killed you? worse, Ah, worse, who loves you? I have been mad, they say, for many days. I know not how I came here, to the valley,
What fate has led me, through what doubtful ways. Where are you now, Delight, and where your beauty,
Your subtle curls, and laughing, changeful face? Among so many captured, sold, or slain,
What fate was yours? Oh, lost Delight! Oh, are you anywhere? Can this be true
That nothing, nowhere, exists of you? Oh, gone from me! And yet, how short, when all is said,
This little life of love and tears! Her age, they say, beside her bed,
To-day is only fifteen years. Nay, who shall blame them? Nay, do not shrink! I am so weary of the Curse of Living
The endless, aimless torture, tumult, fears. Since Loveliness is Life's one Consolation,
And love the only Lethe left to man. had you stayed, such things had been! They who know nothing call me fickle,
Keen to pursue and loth to keep. Come back, come back! I want you only,
And you who loved me never knew. My time for loving you is over,
Love has no future, but to die. And thus we part, with no believing
In any chance of future years. A little chilly errant breeze,
That thrills the grasses, stirs the trees. Two Songs by Sitara, of Kashmir
Beloved! Away. She is awake and knows no rest,
Passion dies and is dispossessed
Of his brief, despotic power. Palm Trees by the Sea
Love, let me thank you for this! For yourself: delicate, fair,
Seen as you lay on the sand,
Under the violet skies. Ah, for those nights on the sand
Under the palms by the sea,
For the strange dream of those days
Spent in the passionate land,
For your youth given to me,
I am your debtor always! Ah, if it only had lasted! Ah, for that gift all thanks are given! Ah, how I wish the while I rise,
That what I dream were true. Then, in the coolness of the night,
I meet you in my dreams! How hard for me to be harsh to him
With his soft, appealing eyes. I hate those wounds that trouble my sight,
Unknown! "My Lords,
--Take him away to death!" They are together; Why are we
So hopelessly, so far apart? Oh, I implore you, come to me! Come to me, Solace of mine eyes! Wind, have you never loved a rose? And water, seek you not the Sea? Why, therefore, mock at my repose? You leave me loveless and forlorn,
Pass on, most false and futile night,
Pass on, and perish in the Dawn! Thought could but lessen my soul's delight,
And to-day she may not pine. What use the raptures, passion and delight,
Burnt out; as though they could not wake again. What aim, what end indeed? Day is over at last. Come! as lovers have always come,
Through the evenings of the Past. And you were white as the foam is white,
Your hair was curled as the waves are curled. had we but sailed and reached that night,
The sea's last edge, the end of the world! 'T is eight miles out and eight miles in,
Just at the break of morn. (It cuts like knives, this air so chill,)
Dear God! Behind us, wrapped in mist and sleep
The Ruined City lies,
(Although we race, we seem to creep!) Eight miles out only, eight miles in,
Good going all the way;
But more and more the clouds begin
To redden into day. As mile on mile behind us falls,
Till, Oh, delight! I see
My Heart's Desire, who softly calls
Across the gloom to me. So tolerant of human passion,
"To love he has but one more day." "For me," he whispered, as he lay,
"But little life remains to live. "See, I have something here for you
For you and It, if It there be." Soft in the gloom her glances grew,
With gentle tears he could not see. Oh, come, unresisting,
Lovely, expectant, on tentative feet. We know not life's reason,
The length of its season,
Know not if they know, the great Ones above. We none of us sought it,
And few could support it,
Were it not gilt with the glamour of love. But much is forgiven
To Gods who have given,
If but for an hour, the Rapture of Youth. Come, for I wait for you,
Night is too late for you,
Come, while the twilight is closing the flowers. Along the rocks and the defiles,
The mules and the camels wind. Behind us, red in the distance. Colour of War and Rage, of Pomp and Show,
Banners that flash, red flags that flaunt and glow,
Colour of Carnage, Glory, also Shame,
Raiment of women women may not name. Strong am I, over strong, to eyes that tire,
In the hot hue of Rapine, Riot, Flame. Colour of Youth and Hope, some waves are mine,
Some emerald reaches of the evening sky. to be chosen one
To hold you, sleeping, against my breast,
As now I may hold your only son. Look down at his face, your face, beloved,
His eyes are azure as yours are blue. In every line of his form is proved
How well I loved you, and only you. Do you remember, when first you laid
Your lips on mine, that enchanted night? Those are dim, and ride away, these cry themselves to sleep. In vain you fanned the ember, for the love flame was not there. What use the scented Roses, or the azure of the sky? They are sweet when Love reposes, but then he had to die. What could I do in leaving you, but ask you to forget,--
I suffered, too, in grieving you; I all but loved you yet. But half love is a treason, that no lover can forgive,
I had loved you for a season, I had no more to give. You saw my passion faltered, for I could but let you see,
And it was not I that altered, but Fate that altered me. Pleasure is one with Pain, if too intense. But you desired it, therefore I obey. Before she takes to-morrow's tide,
Let this one night be mine! And what is love at its best, but this? O Stars, so golden, it is not so. O Stars, you saw it, you know, you know. Not so,
Seeking desperately to forget. You see so many, O Stars, you know. The Singer
The singer only sang the Joy of Life,
For all too well, alas! Across the Zenith the vultures fly,
Cruel of beak and heavy of wing. Also, the game is not yet over--quite!