"Less than the Dust" Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,Even less than these!Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,Less than the need thou hast in life of me.Even less am I.Since I, O Lord, am nothing unto thee,See here thy Sword, I make it keen and bright,Love's last reward, Death, comes to me to-night,Farewell, Zahir-u-din. "To the Unattainable" Oh, that my blood were water, thou athirst,And thou and I in some far Desert land,How would I shed it gladly, if but firstIt touched thy lips, before it reached the sand.Once,—Ah, the Gods were good to me,—I threwMyself upon a poison snake, that creptWhere my Beloved—a lesser love we knewThan this which now consumes me wholly—slept.But thou; Alas, what can I do for thee?By Fate, and thine own beauty, set aboveThe need of all or any aid from me,Too high for service, as too far for love. "In the Early, Pearly Morning": Song by ValgovindThe fields are full of Poppies, and the skies are very blue,By the Temple in the coppice, I wait, Beloved, for you.The level land is sunny, and the errant air is gay,With scent of rose and honey; will you come to me to-day?From carven walls above me, smile lovers; many a pair."Oh, take this rose and love me!" she has twined it in her hair.He advances, she retreating, pursues and holds her fast,The sculptor left them meeting, in a close embrace at last.Through centuries together, in the carven stone they lie,In the glow of golden weather, and endless azure sky.Oh, that we, who have for pleasure so short and scant a stay,Should waste our summer leisure; will you come to me to-day?The Temple bells are ringing, for the marriage month has come.I hear the women singing, and the throbbing of the drum.And when the song is failing, or the drums a moment mute,The weirdly wistful wailing of the melancholy flute.Little life has got to offer, and little man to lose,Since to-day Fate deigns to proffer, Oh wherefore, then, refuseTo take this transient hour, in the dusky Temple gloomWhile the poppies are in flower, and the mangoe trees abloom.And if Fate remember later, and come to claim her due,What sorrow will be greater than the Joy I had with you?For to-day, lit by your laughter, between the crushing years,I will chance, in the hereafter, eternities of tears. Reverie of Mahomed Akram at the Tamarind Tank The Desert is parched in the burning sunAnd the grass is scorched and white.But the sand is passed, and the march is done,We are camping here to-night.I sit in the shade of the Temple walls,While the cadenced water evenly falls,And a peacock out of the Jungle callsTo another, on yonder tomb.Above, half seen, in the lofty gloom,Strange works of a long dead people loom,Obscene and savage and half effaced—An elephant hunt, a musicians' feast—And curious matings of man and beast;What did they mean to the men who are long since dust...?