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 

• Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 6: Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 67: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 64: When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 63: Against my love shall be, as I am now by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 61: Is it thy will thy image should keep open by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 5: Those hours, that with gentle work did frame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 58: That god forbid, that made me first your slave by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 56: Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 95: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

Search engines:

Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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