My heart is as a House of Groans From dusky eve to dawning grey; Allah, Allah hu! The glazed flesh on my staring bones Grows black and blacker with decay; Allah, Allah hu! Yet am I none whom Death may slay; I am spared to suffer and to warn; Allah, Allah hu! My lashless eyes are parched to horn With weeping for my sin alway; Allah, Allah hu! For blood, hot blood that no man sees, The blood of one I slew Burns on my hands I cry theref³re, All night long, on my knees, Evermore, Allah, Allah hu! Because I slew him over wine, Because I struck him down at night, Allah, Allah hu! Because he died and made no sign, His blood is always in my sight; Allah, Allah hu! Because I raised my arm to smite While the foul cup was at his lips, Allah, Allah hu! Because I wrought his soul's eclipse He comes between me and the Light; Allah, Allah hu! His is the form my terror sees, The sinner that I slew; My rending cry is still theref³re, All night long, on my knees, Evermore, Allah, Allah hu! Under the all-just Heaven's expanse There is for me no resting-spot; Allah, Allah hu! I dread Man's vengeful countenance, The smiles of Woman win me not; Allah, Allah hu! I wander among graves where rot The carcases of leprous men; Allah, Allah hu! I house me in the dragon's den Till evening darkens grove and grot; Allah, Allah hu! But bootless all!-Who penance drees Must dree it his life through; My heartwrung cry is still theref³re, All night long, on my knees, Evermore, Allah, Allah hu! The silks that swathe my hall deewāān Are damascened with moons of gold; Allah, Allah hu! Musk-roses from my Gulistāān Fill vases of Egyptian mould; Allah, Allah hu! The Koran's treasures lie unrolled Near where my radiant night-lamp burns; Allah, Allah hu! Around me rows of silver urns Perfume the air with odours old; Allah, Allah hu! But what avail these luxuries? The blood of him I slew Burns red on all-I cry theref³re, All night long, on my knees, Evermore, Allah, Allah hu! Can Sultans, can the Guilty Rich Purchase with mines and thrones a draught, Allah, Allah hu! From that Nutulian fount of which The Conscience-tortured whilome quaffed? Allah, Allah hu! Vain dream! Power, Glory, Riches, Craft, Prove magnets for the Sword of Wrath; Allah, Allah hu! Thornplant Man's last and lampless path, And barb the Slaying Angel's shaft; Allah, Allah hu! O! the Bloodguilty ever sees But sights that make him rue, As I do now, and cry theref³re, All night long, on my knees, Evermore, Allah, Allah hu! |