Less Than The Dust

Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,
Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,
    Even less than these!

Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,
Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,
Less than the need thou hast in life of me.
    Even less am I.

Since I, O Lord, am nothing unto thee,
See here thy Sword, I make it keen and bright,
Love's last reward, Death, comes to me to-night,
    Farewell,    Zahir-u-din.

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

Adela Florence Nicolson, better known by her pen name Laurence Hope, was an English poet who gained popularity in the early 20th century for her verse inspired by Indian themes and settings. She was born on April 9, 1865, in Stoke Bishop, England. Nicolson's work is often associated with themes of love, longing, and the exoticism of the East. She tragically ended her own life on October 4, 1904. Despite her short life, her poetry left a lasting impact and continues to be read and appreciated.

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

Disappointment

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

Zira: In Captivity

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

The Temple Dancing Girl

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

On the City Wall

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

English

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Farewell

Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you
    Against my heart for any length of days.
I had no loveliness, alas, to hold you,
    No siren voice, no charm that lovers praise.

Yet, in the midst of grief and desolation,
    Solace I my despairing soul with this:
Once, for my life's eternal consolation,
    You lent my lips your loveliness to kiss.

Ah, that one night!    I think Love's very essence
    Distilled itself from out my joy and pain,
Like tropical trees, whose fervid inflorescence
    Glows, gleams, and dies, never to bloom again.

Often I marvel how I met the morning
    With living eyes after that night with you,
Ah, how I cursed the wan, white light for dawning,
    And mourned the paling stars, as each withdrew!

Yet I, eve...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

The Dying Prince

There are no days for me any more, for the dawn is dark with tears,
There is no rest for me any more, for the night is thick with fears.
There are no flowers nor any fruit, for the sorrowful locusts came,
And the garden is but a memory, the vineyard only a name.

There is no light in the empty sky, no sail upon the sea,
Birds are yet on their nests perchance, but they sing no more to me.
Past - vanished - faded away - all the joys that were.
My youth died down in a swift decline when they married her to despair.

"My lord, the crowd in the Audience Hall; how long wilt thou have them wait?"
I have given my father's younger son the guidance of the State.
"The steeds are saddled, the Captains call for the orders of the day."
Tell them that I shall ride no more to the hunting or...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

Afridi Love

Since, Oh, Beloved, you are not even faithful
    To me, who loved you so, for one short night,
For one brief space of darkness, though my absence
    Did but endure until the dawning light;

Since all your beauty - which was mine - you squandered
    On that which now lies dead across your door;
See here this knife, made keen and bright to kill you.
    You shall not see the sun rise any more.

Lie still!    Lie still!    In all the empty village
    Who is there left to hear or heed your cry?
All are gone to labour in the valley,
    Who will return before your time to die?

No use to struggle; when I found you sleeping,
    I took your hands and bound them to your side,
And both these slender feet, too apt at straying,
    Down to th...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

Zira: In Captivity

Love me a little, Lord, or let me go,
I am so weary walking to and fro
Through all your lonely halls that were so sweet
Did they but echo to your coming feet.

When by the flowered scrolls of lace-like stone
Our women's windows - I am left alone,
Across the yellow Desert, looking forth,
I see the purple hills towards the north.

Behind those jagged Mountains' lilac crest
Once lay the captive bird's small rifled nest.
There was my brother slain, my sister bound;
His blood, her tears, drunk by the thirsty ground.

Then, while the burning village smoked on high,
And desecrated all the peaceful sky,
They took us captive, us, born frank and free,
On fleet, strong camels through the sandy sea.

Yet, when we rested, night-times, on the sand
B...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

To M. C. N.

Thou hast no wealth, nor any pride of power,
Thy life is offered on affection's altar.
Small sacrifices claim thee, hour by hour,
Yet on the tedious path thou dost not falter.

To the unknowing, well thy days might seem
Circled by solitude and tireless duty,
Yet is thy soul made radiant by a dream
Of delicate and rainbow-coloured beauty.

Never a flower trembles in the wind,
Never a sunset lingers on the sea,
But something of its fragrance joins thy mind,
Some sparkle of its light remains with thee.

Thus when thy spirit enters on its rest,
Thy lips shall say, "I too have known the best!"

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

Yasmini

At night, when Passion's ebbing tide
    Left bare the Sands of Truth,
Yasmini, resting by my side,
    Spoke softly of her youth.

"And one" she said "was tall and slim,
    Two crimson rose leaves made his mouth,
And I was fain to follow him
    Down to his village in the South.

"He was to build a hut hard by
    The stream where palms were growing,
We were to live, and love, and lie,
    And watch the water flowing.

"Ah, dear, delusive, distant shore,
    By dreams of futile fancy gilt!
The riverside we never saw,
    The palm leaf hut was never built!

"One had a Tope of Mangoe trees,
    Where early morning, noon and late,
The Persian wheels, with patient ease,
    Brought up their liquid, silver freight.

"A...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson