Yasmin
How splendid in the morning glows the lily: with what
grace he throws
His supplication to the rose: do roses nod the head, Yasmin?
But when the silver dove descends I find the little flower of
friends
Whose very name that sweetly ends I say when I have said,
Yasmin.
The morning light is clear and cold: I dare not in that
light behold
A whiter light, a deeper gold, a glory too far shed, Yasmin.
But when the deep red eye of day is level with the lone
highway,
And some to Meccah turn to pray, and I toward thy bed,
Yasmin;
Or when the wind beneath the moon in drifting like a soul
aswoon,
And harping planets talk love's tune with milky wings
outspread, Yasmin,
Shower down thy love, O burning bright! For one night or
the other night,
Will come the Gardener in white, and gathered flowers are
dead, Yasmin.
-- a ghazel by James Elroy Flecker
.
.
.
The poem as it was set in the Collected Poems of James Elroy Flecker.
