Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/To Harifa, in an Orgy
TO HARIFA, IN AN ORGY.
Thy hand, Harifa! bring it me;
Come near, and place it on my brow;
As on some lava's boiling sea
I feel my head is burning now.
Come, bring with mine thy lips to meet,
Though they but madden me astray,
Where yet I find the kisses beat,
There left thy loves of yesterday.
What is virtue, what is joy,
Or love, or purity, or truth?
The false illusions of a boy,
The cherish' d flatteries of my youth.
Then bring me wine; there let me try
Remembrance drown' d to hold repressed,
Without a pang from life to fly;
In frenzy death may give me rest.
O'erspreads my face a burning flood,
And red and glaring wildly start
My eyes forth out in heated blood,
And forth leaps restlessly my heart.
Woman! I hate thee; fly thee—go:
I feel thy hands my hands infold,
And feel them freezing, cold as snow,
As snow thy kisses are as cold.
Ever the same, try, tempters weak!
Other endearments to enthral;
Another world, new pleasures seek,
For such your joys I curse them all.
Your kisses are a lie; a cheat
Is all the tenderness you feign;
Your beauty ugly in deceit,
The enjoyment suffering and pain.
I wish for love, ethereal, high,
For some diviner joy my lot;
For such my heart will imaged sigh,
For such as in the world is not.
And ’t is that meteor light afar,
The phantom that deceived my mind,
The treacherous guide, the vapour star,
That leads me wandering and blind.
Why is my soul for pleasure dead,
And yet alive to grief and care?
Why doom'd in listless stupor laid
This arid loathing still to bear?
Why this consuming wild desire,
This restless passion vague and strange?
That well I know I rave, 't is fire,
Yet plunge in its deceitful range.
Why do I dream of love and joy,
That I am sure a lie will prove?
Why where fantastic charms decoy,
Will thus my heart delirious move,
If soon it finds for meads and flowers,
But arid wastes and tangled thorns,
And soon a loathing rage overpowers
The mad or mournful love it scorns?
Flung as a rapid comet wide,
On ardent fancy's wings I flew,
Where'er my wayward mind espied
Or joys or triumphs to pursue.
I launched myself, in daring flight,
Beyond the world through heavenward space,
And found but doubt, and all so bright
That seem'd, illusive proved the chase.
Then on the earth I anxious sought
For virtue, glory, love sublime;
And my worn spirit found there nought
But fetid dust and loathsome slime.
Mid clouds with heavenly hues o'ercast
Women of virgin lustre shone;
I saw, I touched them, and they pass'd,
And smoke and ashes left alone.
I found the illusion fled; but rife,
Unquench’d desires their longings crave;
I felt the real, I hated life,
And peace believed but in the grave.
And yet I seek, and anxious seek,
For pleasures still I ask and sigh,
And hear dread accents answering speak,
"Unhappy one! despair, and die.
"Die: Life is torment, joy a cheat,
Hope not for good on earth for thee,
But fruitless struggles look to meet
In thy vain longings endlessly!
For so God punishes the soul
That in its madness daresPespy
The unfathom'd secrets of the scroll
Of truth, denied to mortal eye! "
O! cease: no more I ask to know,
No more to see: my soul oppressed
Is humbly bow’d, and prostrate low,
Now only asks, and longs for rest.
In me let feeling then lie dead,
Since died my hopes of happiness,
Nor joys nor griefs be o'er me spread
My soul returning to depress.
Pass, as in magic optic glass,
And other youthful hearts deceive,
Bright images of glory! pass,
That crowns of gold and laurel weave.
Pass, ye voluptuous fair ones, on!
With dance and mirthful songs attuned,
Like vaporous visions, pass, begone!
No more my heart to move or wound.
And let the dance, and festal din,
O'er my revolted fancy reign,
And fled the night, see morn begin,
Surprised in senseless stupor's chain.
Harifa, come! Like me this woe
Thou too hast borne! Thou ne'er dost weep!
But, ah! how wretched 't is to know
Feelings so bitter and so deep!
The same our sufferings and care;
In vain thou hold'st thy tears apart;
Like me thou also hast to bear
A wounded and an aching heart!