Alone I stood upon the height, a bird within the dark of night,
Love-struck by beauty, wandering wide through echoes of delight.
How oft he beat his wings through space, as though heaven's king were he,
And on the dreaming boughs you'd see him dreaming hopefully.
How oft through twilight nights he roamed, a wanderer on the lea,
Chanting of love and happiness and longing's melody.
He sang alone through summer nights in strains surpassing fair,
And all existence bent its ear, enraptured, in despair.
And heaven too unveiled its face in splendour and in grace,
And life's bright fountains shimmered forth in purity's embrace.
Morning came, arrayed in life and hope's renewing ray,
And eager birds descended on the fields without delay.
Sky-birds spread out the zephyr's wings, serene and crystalline,
Yearning toward sweet fancies in the heavens' high demesne.
They know no pain, nor fear the strife of all created things,
For God hath placed in them the dreams that life's fulfillment brings.
I walked alone upon the road, a broken-wingèd bird,
Lost on the path, still searching for a friend or kindred word.
O river, grant me of thy grace—for I am poppy-flower born,
The waves bore me from paradise to valleys weather-worn.
I gaze at waves that dance at morn and evening's gentle close,
At brooks that send solace abroad and bear away our woes.
And I alone within this river's tranquil sanctuary,
Weep at the echo of lament that will not pity me.
We seem like brothers whom fate robbed of fatherhood in youth,
He weeps life's melodies that died upon the stony tooth.
This weeping stirs me, and I pour my tears in generous flood,
Within art's solemn temple and sad night's solemn mood!
O friend, none kinder to thee lives—have no alarm or dread,
To me alike whether thou show harshness or kind words instead.
What hope from time, that tyrant old since antiquity?
The passing years rush on like floods that sweep relentlessly.
They pass and leave but feeble trace upon the shifting sand—
Alas for them! They dwindled who once towered like mountains grand!
Restrain thy lament, O river—for weeping brings no gain,
Send us a draught to heal the wounds of those who suffer pain!
Pursue thy course through life as thou wast wont, and hesitate not,
Pour forth thy wilderness songs—for here we dwell in safety's lot!
O star, hide not thy radiance—for my days are clothed in gloom,
Childhood's span is spent in deserts and the wilderness's room,
And half my life I passed amid the ever-shifting sand,
So send what inspiration may revive the poet's band.
The heavens said to me: I have ascended far above mankind,
Guiding the exile whom blind fortunes left behind.
How many souls I led away from evils spreading wide,
And raised the noble spirit to illumined life's fair side.
They sought my shelter, having lost their misery and pain,
And found love in my shadow, resting from their grief again!
Behold the caravans that drift along the desert way,
Moving like nature's children through that wilderness's day.
How many winds have cast them to the right or to the left!
How many winds have hurled them on plain or rocky cleft!
The crowned rock split for lowlands and for valleys wide,
And winds responded with each tune that none could override.
O rock, what ails thee standing thus? The heavens changed their face—
Dost thou behold eternity's bright flower in this place?
When waters answered back with murmurs filling every stream,
These are thy ramparts, O ye sands—God's everlasting dream.
Then winds responded like an echo in the vault of space,
And earth awoke to harmonies that heaven's realms embrace!
O Eden's fruit tree, bared now by the waters' swift retreat—
Dost thou receive art's secret breathed in splendour and life's beat?
Alas for these rocks in a hermitage like devotee,
Assailed by storms of hostile fate relentlessly.
Alas for the majestic mount whose structure tumbled down,
And demolition tore the mighty fortress, marred its crown.
Alas for scattered sand like particles of radiant ray,
The winds assail it with a cruelty none can allay.
Alas for the stray bird that stumbled in its wandering tread,
And poetry enfolded sands like sorrow's world outspread.
Even the boats that leapt like childhood in its glee,
Could not appease a heart that groaned near bursting bitterly.
O night, what is this darkness dense that lurks and lies in wait?
Is it a standing prison, or a door that bars the gate?
Or is it the world's heart enshrouded in the deepest black,
Where error triumphs over truth and righteousness turns back?
Till came the day when seas foamed white and winds blew tempest-strong,
And ships were hurled against the shores desires dragged along.
And men in ambition's world depart and come again to feast,
Having sold their souls for baseness and debauchery's least.
They grew voracious as the wolves or savage beasts of prey,
And shared the victims' corpses with blood-dripping claws that slay!
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