Lost Delight

After the Hazara War

I lie alone beneath the Almond blossoms,

Where we two lay together in the spring,

And now, as then, the mountain snows are melting,

This year, as last, the water-courses sing.

That was another spring, and other flowers,

Hung, pink and fragile, on the leafless tree,

The land rejoiced in other running water,

And I rejoiced, because you were with me.

You, with your soft eyes, darkly lashed and shaded,

Your red lips like a living, laughing rose,

Your restless, amber limbs so lithe and slender

Now lost to me. Gone whither no man knows.

You lay beside me singing in the sunshine;

The rough, white fur, unloosened at the neck,

Showed the smooth skin, fair as the Almond blossoms,

On which the sun could find no flaw or fleck.

I lie alone, beneath the Almond flowers,

I hated them to touch you as they fell.

And now, who killed you? worse, Ah, worse, who loves you?

(My soul is burning as men burn in Hell.)

How I have sought you in the crowded cities!

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.

Somewhere I see my sword has done good service,

Some one I killed, who, smiling, used your name,

But in what country? Nay, I have forgotten,

All thought is shrivelled in my heart’s hot flame.

Where are you now, Delight, and where your beauty,

Your subtle curls, and laughing, changeful face?

Bound, bruised and naked (dear God, grant me patience),

And sold in Cabul in the market-place.

I asked of you of all men. Who could tell me?

Among so many captured, sold, or slain,

What fate was yours? (Ah, dear God, grant me patience,

My heart is burnt, is burnt, with fire and pain.)

Oh, lost Delight! my heart is almost breaking,

My sword is broken and my feet are sore,

The people look at me and say in passing,

“He will not leave the village any more.”

For as the evening falls, the fever rises,

With frantic thoughts careering through the brain,

Wild thoughts of you. (Ah, dear God, grant me patience,

My soul is hurt beyond all men call pain.)

I lie alone, beneath the Almond blossoms,

And see the white snow melting on the hills

Till Khorassan is gay with water-courses,

Glad with the tinkling sound of running rills,

And well I know that when the fragile petals

Fall softly, ere the first green leaves appear,

(Ah, for these last few days, God, grant me patience,)

Since Delight is not, I shall not be, here!

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Poems in English 

• Old Ladies’ Home by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Ode For Ted by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Notes To A Neophyte by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Nick And The Candlestick by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• New Year On Dartmoor by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Never Try To Trick Me With A Kiss by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Mussel Hunter At Rock Harbor by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Morning In The Hospital Solarium by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Moonsong At Morning by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Monologue At 3 AM by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Miss Drake Proceeds To Supper by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Metamorphoses Of The Moon by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Memoirs Of A Spinach-Picker by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Mary’s Song by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Man In Black by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Mad Girl’s Love Song by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Love Is A Parallax by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Letter To A Purist by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• Letter In November by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath
• A Lesson In Vengeance by Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath

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