Alone I stood upon the bank, a bird in night's deep gloom,Enamoured of all beauty, wandering through delight's perfume;
How oft he fluttered through the air, as though the sky's own king,And on the swaying boughs was seen to dream in hope's sweet spring;
How oft through summer's dusky nights he roamed the river's side,Singing of love and happiness and dreams that would abide;
He sang alone through summer eves with melody divine,And all existence bent its ear, entranced, to notes of his design;
And when the heavens were unveiled in splendour and in grace,Life's fountains shimmered forth with purity upon my face;
I journeyed on alone, a broken bird upon the way,Who lost his path and sought a friend or comrade for the day;
His shelter was a nest of leaves upon the spreading tree,And when kind life smiled down on him, the blossoms drew him free;
The tender flower he would embrace as though a lover's face,And clasp it in the ardent hold of one who knew love's embrace;
How tenderly he sang — his tune the sick man's plaintive song,The melody of hearts bewildered, wandering the dusk along;
This weeping stirs my soul, and down my cheeks the teardrops fall,Upon the temple of great art and sorrow's solemn hall;
They said: Come to the Nile's fair bank in thy beloved land,The land of motherhood and grace, where love holds sway and stands;
Where is the beauty of my dreams, that vanished long ago,Since my dear mother passed away, and left my song in woe;
I made of her my every hope, my every art's desire,Alas, the memory swept our world with sorrow's smouldering fire;
O friend, of all who show thee kindness I am best — fear not,Alike to me are cruelty and mercy in this spot;
What hope from time, that tyrant old since ages long ago,When passing years flow on like floods that never cease to flow;
They pass and leave no trace save faint impressions in the sand,Alas, they dwindled — they who stood majestic as the land;
Relieve the people's suffering, O river of eternity,And send a draught to heal the wounds of those in misery;
Pursue thy course through life as thou wast meant, and never tire,And sing the songs of friendship — we are safe beside thy fire;
O moon, withhold not thy bright rays — my days are clad in black,Childhood's brief span was spent beneath the vigil's weary track;
I passed a portion of my life in rain-drenched lands afar,So send what inspiration may revive the poet's heart once more;
These caravans have stumbled, praying God for peace and rest,They wander like the birds of nature seeking wilderness confessed;
How many plains have scattered them on uplands or on hills,How many tempests hurled them from the south or northern chills;
The rock, crowned with the lance-like rays of sunlight, split apart,And winds sang through it, blessing conquest's freely granted art;
Was that a rock or flowers strewn across the desert sand,Embraced by light, and sometimes by the shadow's fleeting hand;
When waters answered back with murmurs filling every stream,These are thy ramparts, O High Dam, the Lord's entrusted dream;
Then winds intoned like melody within the vault of air,And all the world arose to music branching everywhere;
O moon of paradise, the waters have unveiled thy face,Dost thou inspire the garden of great art with life and grace;
Yesterday I beheld the rocks in solitude devout,Today they seem like youth that follows in the vanguard's route;
Alas for the majestic mount whose structure crumbled down,The rock recounts the tale unto the dam that bars the town;
Play with me, scattered sand, like particles of radiant light,That breezes kiss after long exile and abandonment's plight;
The desert bird, how weary of the wilderness's heat,Today descends with tenderness where waters and sands meet;
Even the boats that leap like childhood in its joyful play,Could not appease a heart that groaned with deprivation's sway;
Thou camest, O day of hope, inspiring souls that dare aspire,And breathed sweet fragrance in the groves where thorns concealed no fire;
Alas for desert nights and barren wilderness and plain,Yesterday thou didst conceal life's phantom, wan and vain;
Wast thou a prison standing firm, or was thou but a gateShut fast, or dreams that wandered through each sympathetic heart's estate,
Or wast thou the world's heart itself, enshrouded all in black,Where error triumphed over truth and guidance turned its back;
Today thou hast returned, subdued, among the silent sands,Inviting wanderers to drink from flowing water's hands.
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