Page:Last Poems.djvu/34

 Once, as thou mournd'st thy lifeless brother's fate, The red tears falling from thy shattered wrist, A spent Waziri, forceful still, in hate, Covered thy heart, ten paces off,—and missed!

Ahi, men thrust a worn and dinted sword Into a velvet-scabbarded repose; The gilded pageants that salute thee Lord Cover one sorrow-rusted heart, God knows.

Ah, to exchange this wealth of idle days For one cold reckless night of Khorasan! To crouch once more before the camp-fire blaze That lit the lonely eyes of Yasin Khan.

To watch the starlight glitter on the snows, The plain stretched round us like a waveless sea, Waiting until thy weary lids should close To slip my furs and spread them over thee.

How the wind howled about the lonely pass, While the faint snow-shine of that plateaued space Lit, where it lay upon the frozen grass, The mournful, tragic beauty of thy face.

Thou hast enough caressed the scented hair Of these soft-breasted girls who waste thee so. Hast thou not sons for every adult year? Let us arise, O Yasin Khan, and go!

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