Handing Over The Gun

Kill me if you will not love me.
    Here are flints;
Ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard,
    On the black powder.

Only you must not shoot me through the head,
    Nor touch my heart;
Because my head is full of the ways of you
    And my heart is dead.

Song of Syria.

Edward Powys Mathers

Edward Powys Mathers was an English translator and poet, best known for translating the French Orientalist J.C. Mardrus's translation of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night' in 1923. In addition to translations, Powys Mathers was an influential figure in the realm of cryptic crosswords, devising some of the most challenging puzzles for 'The Observer'. His translations have been lauded for their literary beauty and for introducing English-speaking audiences to classic Persian, Arabic, and Turkish poetry.

Edward Powys Mathers

Lying Down Alone

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

Micra

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

Song Writer Paid With Air

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

You Do Not Want Me?

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

English

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The Flight

Softly into the saddle
Of my black horse with white feet;
Your brothers are frowning
And grasping swords in sleep.
My rifle is as clean as moonlight,
My flints are new;
My long grey sword is sighing
In his blue sheath.
Fatima gave me my grey sword
Of Temrouk steel,
Damascened in red gold
To cut a pathway for the feet of love.

My eye is dark and keen,
My hand has never trembled on the sword.
If your brothers rise and follow
On their stormy horses,
If they stretch their hot hands
To catch you from my breast,
My rifle shall not sing to them,
My steel shall spare.
My rifle's song is for my yellow girl,
My eye is dark and keen,
I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart
That ever lady loved with in the world.

My han...

Edward Powys Mathers

As The Author Was Discharging His Pistols In A Garden, Two Ladies Passing Near The Spot, Were Alarmed By The Sound Of A Bullet Hissing Near Them. To One Of Whom The Following Verses On The Occasion, Were Addressed The Next Morning.

1.

Doubtless, sweet girl, the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction near thy charms,
And hurtling^[1] o'er thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

2.

Surely some envious Demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.

3.

Yes! in that nearly fatal hour,
The ball obey'd some hell-born guide,
But Heaven with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.

4.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear,
Upon that thrilling bosom fell,
Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell; -

5.

Say, what dire penance can atone?
For such an outrage done to thee,
Arrai...

George Gordon Byron

Lines Addressed To A Young Lady.[1]

As the author was discharging his Pistols in a Garden, Two Ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a Bullet hissing near them, to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning. ^[2]


1.

Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms
And hurtling o'er ^[3] thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.


2.

Surely some envious Demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.


3.

Yes! in that nearly fatal hour,
The ball obey'd some hell-born guide;
But Heaven, with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.


4.

Yet, ...

George Gordon Byron

Things Seen In A Battle

Clear diamond heart,
I have been hunting death
Among the swords.

But death abhors my shadow,
And I come back
Wounded with memories.

Your eyes,
For steel is amorous of steel
And there are bright blue sparks.

Your lips,
I see great bloody roses
Cut in white dead breasts.

Your bed,
For I see wrestling bodies
Under the evening star.

From the Turkic.

Edward Powys Mathers

Hunter's Song

Not a stone from my black sling
Ever misses anything,
But the arrows of your eye
Surer shoot and faster fly.

Not one creature that I hit
Lingers on to know of it,
But the game that falls to love
Lives and lingers long enough.

From the Turkic.

Edward Powys Mathers

Semper Idem.

1

Hold up thy head and crush
    Thy heart's despair;
From thy wan temples brush
    The tear-wet hair.


2

Look on me thus as I
    Gaze upon thee;
Nor question how nor why
    Such things can be.


3

Thou thought'st it love! - poor fool!
    That which was lust!
Which made thee, beautiful,
    Vile as the dust!


4

Thy flesh I craved, thy face! -
    Love shrinks at this -
Now on thy lips to place
    One farewell kiss! -


5

Weep not, but die! - 'tis given -
    And so - farewell! -
Die! - that which makes death heaven,
    Makes life a hell.

Madison Julius Cawein