Disappointment by Lawrence Hope O come,
Beloved,
Before my beauty fades,
Pity the sorrow of my loneliness.
I am the rosebush that the cypress shades,
No sunbeams find or lighten my distress.
Daily I watch the waning of my bloom,
Ah,
Piteous fading of a thing so fair,
While fate,
Remorseless,
Weaving at her loo,
Twines furtive silver in my twisted hair.
This noon I watched a tremulous fading road Rise on the wind a court a butterfly.
One speck of pollen ere my petals clothe Bring me one touch of love before I die.
But the gay butterfly,
Who had the power to grant,
Refused flew far across the dell,
And as he fertilized a younger flower,
The petals of the rose,
Defrauded,
Fell.
Such was my fate,
Thou hast not come to me,
Thine eyes are absent and thy voice is mute.
Though I am slim as this papaya tree,
With breast out-pointing even as its fruit,
Beauty was mine,
It brought me no caress,
My lips were red,
Yet there were none to taste.
I saw my youth consume in loneliness,
And all the fervor of my heart run waste.
While I still hoped that thou wast come to me,
I and the garden waited for their lord.
Here he will rest beneath this champa tree,
Hence all ye spike-set grasses from the sward.
In this cool rillit I shall bathe his feet,
Come rounded pebbles from a smoother shore.
This is the honey that his lips will eat,
Hasten,
Obese,
And hence the amber store.
Ripe in ye custard apples,
Round and fair,
Practice your songs,
O' bulbils,
On the bow,
Surely some sweeter sweetness haunts the air,
Maybe his feet draw near us even now.
Disperse ye fireflies clustered on the palm,
Love heeds no lamp,
He welcomes moonless skies.
Soon shall he find,
O star serene and calm,
Your sparkling rivals in my lover's eyes.
Closely I wove my leafy jasmine bowers,
Hoping to hide my pleasure and my shame,
Where the lantanas in decisive flowers Vary from palest rose to orange flame.
Aye,
There were lovely hours,
Neath fern and palm,
Almost my aching longing I forgot.
White nights of silence,
Noons of golden calm,
All past,
All wasted,
Since thou camest not.
Night after night the champa-trees distilled,
Their cruel sweetness on the careless air.
Noon after noon I watched the bulbils build,
And saw with hungry eyes the sun-birds' pair.
None came and none will come,
No use to wait,
Youth's fragrance dies,
Its tender light dies down.
I will arise before it grows too late,
And seek the noisy brilliance of the town.
These many waiting years I longed for gold,
Now must I needs console me with alloy.
Before this beauty fades,
This pulse grows cold.
I may not love,
I will at least enjoy.
Farewell my solitude of scented flowers,
Across whose glades the emerald parrot gleams,
Haunt of false hope and home of wasted hours.
I am awake at last,
Guard though the dream.
