Wars start up wherever your eye glances, And the young men moan marching on to the batteries.

_Mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road; He has taken his death-wound in battle.

_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._

BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN

Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me.

Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow; The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart; Come to me.

The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings; Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart, Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me.

Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more beautiful Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings.

The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope; But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves.

Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves, And give yourself once to _Ajam_. Slip away weeping, Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me.

Come to me to-day wearing your green collar, Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me.

_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._

GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA

Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing, Lend your small ears to my quick sighing.

Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death; And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes.

Life is a tale ill constructed without love.

Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me; I am at your door wasted and white and dying.

Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.

This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom.

All the world has spied on us and seen our love, And in four days or five days will be whispering evil.

Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever; Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.

After that we will both of us go to prison.

Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.

My quick sighings carry a tender promise; I will have time to remember in the battle, Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me.

The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword, Though I have foes more than the stars Of a thousand valley starlights.

Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.

I am as strong as Sikander, I am as strong as death; You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me, And laughing b.l.o.o.d.y battalions following after.

_Isa Gal_ is stronger than G.o.d; Do not whip me, do not whip me, Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me.

Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.

_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._

_ANNAM_

THE BAMBOO GARDEN

Old bamboos are about my house, And the floor of my house is untidy with old books.

It is sweet to rest in the shade of it And read the poems of the masters.

But I remember a delightful fisherman Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening.

In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float Over the lakes and rivers, Watching his nets and singing.

A sweet boy promised to marry me, But he went away and left Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift In the middle of a river.

_Song of Annam._

STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED

Do not believe that ink is always black, Or lime white, or lemon sour; You cannot ring one bell from two paG.o.das, You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son.

I found you binding an orange spray Of flowers with white flowers; I never noticed the flower gathering Of other village ladies.

Would you like me to go and see your father and mother?

_Song of Annam._

NOCTURNE

It is late at night And the North Star is shining.

The mist covers the rice-fields And the bamboos Are whispering full of crickets.

The watch beats on the iron-wood gong, And priests are ringing the paG.o.da bells.

We hear the far-away games of peasants And distant singing in the cottages.

It is late at night.

As we talk gently, Sitting by one another, Life is as beautiful as night.

The red moon is rising On the mountain side Like a fire started among the trees.

There is the North Star Shining like a paper lantern.

The light air brings dew to our faces And the sound of tamtams beaten far away.

Let us sit like this all night.

_Song of Annam._