Syed Amir

A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)

Syed Amir is dead, and his numerous foes

Are hushed in a breathless awe of amazed relief.

The hearts of his friends are cold as the Tirah snows,

And I am blind and deaf in the Grip of my Grief. —

My Soul has borrowed a portion of Pain from Hell”

Oh, Syed Amir, my brother and Friend, Farewell!

His women weep, but a woman’s tears flow lightly.

A bauble or two, or a child, can soon console.

But I, who am stranger to tears, lie sleepless, nightly,

Feeling the Fangs of-Grief in my desolate soul.

I maddened myself with Churus, it could not cure me-

Ransacked the Bazar, to beg at the hands of lust

An hour’s respite, but how was sin to allure me,

Who know the beauty of Syed Amir is dust?

A little while I wander in Tribulation,

In a Feud or two, or a few light loves take part,

But Death will come, and this is my Consolation,

Men live not long with a stricken and wounded heart’

What further challenge from Fate can I hope or fear,

Who mourn the ruined glory of Syed Amir?

All gifts were Syed Amir’s; an Arrestive Beauty

That caught men’s breath when he passed, Serene and Royal,

A clear and delicate Mind, where Honour and Duty,

Sentried the gate, that nothing might pass disloyal,

And these are taken from Khorassan for ever,

Their light is quenched in the land where he used to dwell,

But I, who loved him, cease from loving him never;

Oh, Syed Amir, my brother and Friend, Farewell!

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• This Moment, Yearning and Thoughtful. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Dust was Once the Man. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Day, O Soul. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Compost. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Think of the Soul. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Thick-Sprinkled Bunting. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• These, I, Singing in Spring. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• There was a Child went Forth. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• The Wound-Dresser by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• That Shadow, my Likeness. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• That Music Always Round Me. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Tests. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Tears. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Still, though the One I Sing. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• States! by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Starting from Paumanok. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spontaneous Me. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spirit whose Work is Done. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spirit That Form’d This Scene. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Sparkles from The Wheel. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman

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