Sonnets by the Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur

Excerpt

I

REBIRTH

  To me no mortal but a spirit blest,
  A Light-girt messenger of Love art thou—
  The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow.
  The thrice-pure fire of Love within thy breast!
  Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest,
  As God's fulfilment of the purest vow
  Love's heart e'er made—thou com'st to show e'en now
  The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best!

  I clasp thy feet,—O fold me in thy wings,
  And place thy pure white hands upon my head,
  And breathe, O breathe, thy love-breath o'er mine eyes
  Till, like the flame that from dark ashes springs,
  My chastened spirit, from a self that's dead,
  Upon the wings of Love shall heav'nward rise.

THE CROWN OF LIFE

  I know not what Love is,—a memory
  Of Heav'n once known,—a yearning for some goal
  That shines afar,—a dream that doth control
  The spirit, shadowing forth what is to be.
  But this I know, my heart hath found in thee
  The crown of life, the glory of the soul,
  The healing of all strife, the making whole
  Of my imperfect being,—yea, of me!

  For to mine eyes thine eyes, through Love, reveal
  The smile of God; to me God's healing breath
  Comes through thy hallowed lips whose pray'r is Love.
  Thy touch gives life! And oh, let me but feel
  Thy hovering hand my closing eyes above,—
  Then, then, my soul will triumph over Death.

III

BEFORE THE THRONE

  When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes—
  Eyes heavy-laden with the soul's desire,
  Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire—
  I have a vision of Love's Paradise.
  Gazing, my trancèd spirit straightway flies
  Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire;
  I hear the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire
  Around Immortal Love triumphant rise.

  And there I kneel before th' eternal throne
  Of Love, whose light conceals him,—there I see,
  Veiled in his sacred light, a face well known
  To me on earth, now, yearning, bend o'er me.
  Heaven's mystic veil, inwove of light and tone,
  Conceals thee not, Belovèd,—I know thee!

WORSHIP

  How poor is all my love, how great thy claim!
  How weak the breath, the voice which would reveal
  All that thy soul hath taught my soul to feel—
  Longings profound,—deep thoughts without a name.
  If God's self might be worshipped, without blame,
  In His best works, then would I silent kneel
  Watching thine eyes,—until my soul should steal
  Back, unperceived, to regions whence it came!

  If my whole life were but one thought of thee,
  That thought the purest worship of my heart
  And my soul's yearning blent; if at thy feet
  I offered such a life, there still would be
  Something to wish for,—something to complete
  The measure of my love and thy desert.

V

UNITY

  When I approach thee, Love, I lay aside
  All that is mortal in me; with a heart
  Absolved and pure, and cleansed in every part
  Of every thought that I might wish to hide
  From God, I come,—fit spirit to abide
  With such a soaring spirit as thou art,
  Whose eye transfixes with a fiery dart
  Presumptuous passion and ignoble pride....