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| I HAVE come into the Desert because my soul is athirst as the Desert is athirst; | |
| My soul which is the soul of all; universal, not different. | |
| We are athirst for the waters which make beautiful the path | |
| And entice the grass, the willows and poplars, | |
| So that in the heat of the day we may lie in a cool shadow, | 5 |
Soothed as by the hands of quiet women, listening to the discourse of running waters as the voices of women, exchanging the confidences of love.
. . . . . . | |
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| The mountains afar girdle the Desert as a zone of amethyst; | |
| Pale, translucent wails of opal, | |
| Gridling the Desert as Life is girt by Eternity. | |
| They lift their heads high above our tribulation | 10 |
| Into the azure vault of Time; | |
| Theirs are the airy castles which are set upon foundations of sapphire. | |
| My soul goes out to them as the bird to her secret nest. | |
They are the abode of peace.
. . . . . . | |
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| The flowers bloom in the Desert joyously— | 15 |
| They do not weary themselves with questioning; | |
| They are careless whether they be seen, or praised. | |
| They blossom unto life perfectly and unto death perfectly, leaving nothing unsaid. | |
| They spread a voluptuous carpet for the feet of the Wind | |
| And to the frolic Breezes which overleap them, they whisper: | 20 |
| “Stay a moment, Brother; plunder us of our passion; | |
| Our day is short, but our beauty is eternal.” | |
| Never have I found a place, or a season, without beauty. | |
| Neither the sea, where the white stallions champ their bits and rear against their bridles, | |
| Nor the Desert, bride of the Sun, which sits scornful, apart, | 25 |
| Like an unwooed princess, careless, indifferent. | |
| She spreads her garments, wonderful beyond estimation, | |
| And embroiders continually her mantle. | |
| She is a queen, seated on a throne of gold | |
| In the Hall of Silence. | 30 |
| She insists upon humility. | |
| She insists upon meditation. | |
| She insists that the soul be free. | |
| She requires an answer. | |
| She demands the final reply to thoughts which cannot be answered. | 35 |
| She lights the sun for a torch | |
| And sets up the great cliffs as sentinels: | |
| The morning and the evening are curtains before her chambers. | |
| She displays the stars as her coronet. | |
| She is cruel and invites victims, | 40 |
| Restlessly moving her wrists and ankles, | |
| Which are loaded with sapphires. | |
| Her brown breasts flash with opals. | |
| She slays those who fear her, | |
| But runs her hand lovingly over the brow of those who know her, | 45 |
| Soothing with a voluptuous caress. | |
| She is a courtesan, wearing jewels, | |
| Enticing, smiling a bold smile; | |
| Adjusting her brilliant raiment negligently, | |
| Lying brooding upon her floor which is richly carpeted; | 50 |
| Her brown thighs beautiful and naked. | |
| She toys with the dazzelry of her diadems, | |
| Smiling inscrutably. | |
| She is a nun, withdrawing behind her veil; | |
| Gray, subdued, silent, mysterious, meditative; unapproachable. | 55 |
| She is fair as a goddess sitting beneath a flowering peach-tree, beside a clear river. | |
| Her body is tawny with the eagerness of the Sun | |
| And her eyes are like pools which shine in deep canons. | |
| She is beautiful as a swart woman, with opals at her throat, | |
| Rubies on her wrists and topaz about her ankles. | 60 |
| Her breasts are like the evening and the day stars; | |
| She sits upon her throne of light, proud and silent, indifferent to her wooers. | |
| The Sun is her servitor, the Stars are her attendants, running before her. | |
| She sings a song unto her own ears, solitary, but it is sufficient— | |
| It is the song of her being. Oh, if I may sing the song of my being it will be sufficient. | 65 |
| She is like a jeweled dancer, dancing upon a pavement of gold; | |
| Dazzling, so that the eyes must be shaded. | |
| She wears the stars upon her bosom and braids her hair with the constellations. | |
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| I know the Desert is beautiful, for I have lain in her arms and she has kissed me. | |
| I have come to her, that I may know freedom; | 70 |
| That I may lie upon the breast of the Mother and breathe the air of primal conditions. | |
| I have come out from the haunts of men; | |
| From the struggle of wolves upon a carcass, | |
| To be melted in Creation’s crucible and be made clean; | |
| To know that the law of Nature is freedom. | 75 |
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