Classic Audiobook Collection - Stars of the Desert by Laurence Hope ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Starting point is 00:00:00 Stars of the Desert by Lawrence Hope To Aziz, Song of Muhammad Akram Your beauty puts a barb into my soul. Strive as I will, it never lets me go. My love has passed the frontiers of control. You are so fair, and I desire you so. Others may come and go. They are to me but change.

Starting point is 00:00:31 changing mirage, transient, untrue. My faithlessness is but fidelity, since I am never faithful, but to you. You are not kind to me, but many are, and all their kindness does not make them dear. It may be you deceive me when afar, even as always you torment me near. Yet is your beauty so divine a thing, so irreplaceable, so haunting sweet, against all reason, I am fain to fling my life, my youth, myself, beneath your feet. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Surf Song by Lawrence Hope, read for Libravox.org, by Newgate Noveless. My little one, come and listen to the calling of the sea,

Starting point is 00:01:46 and watch how the wet sands glisten, where the surf has left them free. As thou and the wind together shall frolic along the strand, thy feet as light as a feather will hardly dent the sand. Unwind the veils that enfold thee, Thou never wast shy with me. The sea will rejoice to hold thee. The stars will delight to see. The beauty thou shalt discover. Oh, morning star of my heart, will dazzle even thy lover, who knows how fair thou art. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I have taken you for my lover by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. To Arthur E.J. Legg, who suggested this idea, Oh, life, I have taken you for my lover. I wrench your veils and I've found you fair.

Starting point is 00:03:09 If a fault or failing my eyes discover, I will not see it. It is not there. I know, if I knew, I should hold you dearer, should understand, if I understood, for I worship more as you draw me nearer, your reckless evil, your perfect good. In the jungle gloom we have watched and waited for stealthy panthers that prowl by night, At the end of some weary march belated, we heard strange tales by the campfire light. We have lain on the starlit sands, untented, while low-hung planets rose white and fair, and in moonlit gardens silver and scented. Oh, life, my lover, how sweet you were!

Starting point is 00:04:14 Forbidden and barbarous rites were shown us in rock-hewn temples and jungle caves, and the smoke-reaved home of the dead has known us, the burning got by the Ganges waves. Ah, the long, lone ride through the starlit hours, the long, lone watch on the starlit sea, and the flame and flush of the morning flowers, when life my lover was kind to me. Be times we were out on the sea together, the vessel raced down the great green slope of mountainous waves in desperate weather.

Starting point is 00:05:06 The hearts of men were adrift from hope, as over the deck in exultant fashion, the violent water crashed and fell. I knew, through the joy of your reckless passion, agonized fear of the last farewell. But I follow you always, unresisting, to lowest depth, to uttermost brink. From a thirst like mine, there is no desisting,

Starting point is 00:05:39 though given poison for wine to drink. you may do your utmost you will not shake me your faith may falter my faith is true oh life you may shatter and rend and break me all pain is pleasure that springs from you in the height and heat of your wildest passion you had your uttermost will of me and when have I asked for the least compassion. A lover loved is a lover free. Though, with never a word of farewell spoken, in lonely wilds of some desert place, you have flung me from you, adrift and broken, to wait the child of your last embrace. And never my faith nor my fervour faltered, until you turned to my lips again, when, my eager longing for you unaltered, your first kiss cancelled my months of pain. Ah, life, you may torture my soul, betray me, the right is yours as lover and lord, and when in the

Starting point is 00:07:08 climax of all you slay me, my lips in dying, will seek your sword. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Illusion by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Nugate Novelist. Thinking you had a heart that love could break, a lovely, gentle soul that might awake, I held you tenderly for either's sake,

Starting point is 00:07:49 and showed you nothing but love's ecstasy. Now, though you have no heart to melt or burn, no soul to wonder, meditate or yearn, your beauty is a fact, lie still, and learn something of passionate love's intensity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sleep by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelin. The Moorish slave at Fidela, Morocco. There is something so beseeching in the attitude of sleep, a pathetic resignation most appealing

Starting point is 00:08:45 to the heart. There must surely be some secret that the eyes in slumber keep, which the lips, on their awakening, could not, if they would impart. see yon slave from Seuss recumbent with his ebbin arms outspread on the marigolds he crushes to a sheet of golden flowers, how the mystery of dreaming lends a halo to his head and exalts him to a level never reached in waking hours. In the form that lies impassive, while the sea-wind comes and goes, and uplifts his rags in pity, on its cool, refreshing breath, there is something so prophetic of the last and great repose, sleep has borrowed, in its quietude, the dignity of death. Though his parted lips are wordless, though he breathes no uttered prayer, yet his silence seems imploring, let me deem the noonday night, for my dreams are velvet-breasted, and they shelter me from care, I entreat thee not to wake me to the sorrows of the light. Ah, sleep on, in peace, my brother, to awaken wind. thou wilt, from the dreams that treat thee kindly, and the rest that sets thee free, with the wild fig for thy canopy, the marigolds thy quilt, and, to serve thee for a lullaby,

Starting point is 00:10:38 the thunder of the sea. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Song of the Enfifa River by Lawrence Hope read for Librivox-Dotelg, Van Ugate Novelist, In memory of Abdullah, drowned at 16, on the road to Rabat, Morocco. At daybreak, when the tide was low, he came to bat his slender feet, and laughing, sported to and fro, across my waters cool and sweet. Obedient to his faith's decree, His sable hair was shorn away. One curl was left, that floating free, I longed to deck with silver spray. His eyes were wide and full of light, young eyes where dreams and fancies glow.

Starting point is 00:11:51 There was no star in heaven so bright, and I reflect the, the stars and know. He gave himself to my embrace. Ah, youth, confiding and unwise. My kisses clustered on his face. How should I render up my prize? Yet he withdrew. My waves were weak. He loitered on my banks a while, shook my caresses from his cheek, and left me with a careless smile. I let him leave, my tides were low, but, seeking succor of the sea, at noon I felt the breakers flow across the bar and join with me. I waited in the heat, at length again he came to bathe alone. Then, in the fullness of my strength, I caught and held him for my own. His strong young arms apart he flung. His red lips cried, I had no care. In eddies round his

Starting point is 00:13:08 limbs I clung, and rippled in and out his hair. I bore him downwards to the sea. The white surf met us on the sand. His beauty was made one with me, who saw and loved it on the land. I laid him down upon the bar, played with his hair, and kissed his eyes. How cold these mortal lovers are! He sleeps and makes me no replies. My tides run low. He will not wake. His hand drifts. like an empty shell. I stole him for his beauty's sake. Alas, Enfifa did not well. His young lips show no stir of breath. Ah, I begin to understand, and I remember, this is death, the haunting terror of the land. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The River of Pearls at Fez, translation, by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist.

Starting point is 00:14:38 One evening we sat together by the River of Pearls at Fez, stringing verses and sometimes singing. My gaze followed the beautiful boy who, with a swift and delicate movement, flung the wine cup over his shoulder. the ruby drops glittered and fell bright in the dying sunshine. The river of pearls shone like a sword in the grass, not disdaining the work of turning the water wheel, and the sun, reluctant, lingered about the treetops in a golden mist of farewell. Many the tears that have fallen since, many the nights that have passed.

Starting point is 00:15:28 But I remember the river of pearls at Fez and Seymar whom I loved. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sayad Amir by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Nugate Novelist. Sayad Amir is dead, and his numerous foes are hushed in a breathless awe of amazed relief.

Starting point is 00:16:09 The hearts of his friends are cold as the tearers snows, and I am blind and deaf in the grip of my grief. My soul has borrowed a portion of pain from hell. Oh, Sayad Amir, my brother and friend, farewell. His women weep, but a woman's tears. flow lightly, a bobble or two or a child can soon console. But I, who am strange to tears, lie sleepless, nightly, feeling the fangs of grief in my desolate soul. I maddened myself with churus. It could not cure me, ransacked the bazaar, to beg at the hands of lust and hours respite,

Starting point is 00:17:03 but how a sin to allure me, who know the beauty of Sayyad Amir is dust? A little while I wander in tribulation, in a feud or two, or a few light loves take part. But death will come, and this is my consolation. Men live not long with a stricken and wounded heart. What further challenge from fate can I hope or fear, whom mourn the ruined glory of Sayyad Amir? All gifts were Sayyad Amir's, an arrestive beauty that caught men's breath when he passed,

Starting point is 00:17:51 serene and royal, a clear and delicate mind, where honour and duty centried the gate that nothing might pass disloyal. And these are taken from Corrason forever. Their light is quenched in the land where he used to dwell. But I, who loved him, cease from loving him never. Oh, Sayad Amir, my brother and friend, farewell.

Starting point is 00:18:28 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. O Salon by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. A sky intensely blue, a low white wall, against it heaps of upblown yellow sand, a sleeping figure holding in her hand some scarlet cactus blossom. That was all. And yet so mellily the sunbeams fell. upon the sunburnt limbs. Such subtle play of rosy light and tender shadow lay upon the upturned face

Starting point is 00:19:21 that all could tell an artist painted with a poet's eyes. And warmly an enthusiastic glow ran through the groups that criticised below, while one, who gazed with pleasure and surprise, said, and I do not think he said amiss. He was her lover when he painted this. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The lute player of Casablanca by Lawrence Hope. Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. No other sing as you have sung. Oh, well-beloved of me. So glad you are, so live and young, As joyous as the sea that dances, in the golden rain, The falling sunbeams fling.

Starting point is 00:20:28 Ah, stoop and kiss me once again, Then take your lute and sing. Oh, lute player, my lute player, Take up your lute and sing. The wind comes blow, light and free. In all the summer aisles, no laughing thing it found to see, as brilliant as your smiles. You are the very heart of youth, the very soul of song, that lovely dream made a living truth for which the poets long. Oh lute player, my lute player, the very soul of song, the very soul of

Starting point is 00:21:15 song. Ah, dear and dark-eyed loot player, this joyous almost pain. To reach, when evening cools the air, your level roof again, to see the palms erect and slim against a golden sky. And here, as twilight closes dim, the Mouidine's mournful cry, across your Cross your songs, my lute player, the faithful's evening cry. Each slender finger lightly slips to its appointed strings. Ah, the sweet scarlet parted lips of one beloved who sings. Ah, the soft radiance of eyes by love and music lit. What need of heaven beyond the skies, since here we enter it?

Starting point is 00:22:18 You make my heaven, my lute player, and hold the keys of it. And when the music waxes strong, I hear the sound of war. The drums are throbbing in the song, the clamour and the roar. The desert's self is in the strain, the agony of solace, the winds that sigh as if in pain about forgotten graves o loot-player my loot-player those lonely desert graves the sightless sockets whence the eyes were wrenched or burnt away the mangled form that ere it dies becomes the jackals prey the forced caress the purchased smile ere youth be yet awake. Oh, break your melody a while, or else my heart will break.

Starting point is 00:23:22 I sometimes think, my lute player, you wish my heart to break. The sunset fires desert the west, the stars invade the sky. Lover of mine, tis time to rest, and let the music die. Though melody awake the morn, yet love should end the day. I kiss your hand the strings have worn and take your loot away. I kiss your hand, my lute player, and take the lute away. At twilight on this roof of ours, so lonely and so high, We catch the scent of all the flowers ascending to the sky.

Starting point is 00:24:23 Sultan of Song, whose burning eyes outblaze the stars above. Forget not when the sunset dies, you reign as Lord of Love. Oh, come to me, my lute player, lover and Lord of Love. poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Hospital on the Shore by Lawrence Hope read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. The youthful swimmers come up on the beach, naked and fresh from the kiss of the sea. I hear the sound of their light-hearted speech, as it is with them, it was once with me. Oh, death, grant me pity. just one day more, and let me go down again to the shore.

Starting point is 00:25:33 I could have died in the rush of the air, mid-crashing water and petulant spray, the surf in my teeth, the wind in my hair, rejoicing, exultant, even as they. But to meet death here, in this walled-in cage, I am dumb with terror and blind with rage. Have pity, reprieve me, just one more ride, white sand beneath us, white planets above.

Starting point is 00:26:10 One last long sail with the ebb of the tide, one lilac evening of delicate love, one lingering look at those eyes of his, to remember through the eternity, End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Among the Sandhills by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. Lie still, beloved. I also see the day shoot his white arrows through the trembling sky. But what is dawn to us, who cast away all sense of time let mars our ecstasy? The scented orange bushes check the breeze, granting in tribute to many waxen stars, and aromatic eucalyptus trees defy the sun with grey-green scimitres,

Starting point is 00:27:22 since fate has given us this garden love, and time and space for once have acquiesced. Ah, take no heed of paling skies above. Let us deem night is with us yet, and rest. Let us lie still and drift away in dreams. Back to the jewelled kingdom of the night, whose golden stars with dimly radiant gleams, lit up your loveliness for my delight. Once we are risen, all the cares of day will seize and bind us to their wanton will. Why should we own that night has passed away? Oh, as you value love, lie still, lie still. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Cactus by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. The Scarlet Flower, with never a sister leaf,

Starting point is 00:28:45 Stemless springs from the edge of the cactus thorn. Thus, from the ragged wounds of desperate grief, a beautiful thought, perfect and pure, is born. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lala Rada and the Churrell by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. His 16 years had a left him very fair, tinted his cheeks with soft and delicate bloom, added new luster to his clustered hair, and filled his amber eyes with tender gloom. He sought some unknown thing, he knew not what. His scarce-seen bride, a child, was far away, desiring love, as yet he knew it not. Sleepless by night he grew, Forlorn by day. Priest.

Starting point is 00:29:59 Ah, go not near the people trees that shiver in the evening breeze. A young churrel might hide in these. And should she see thee and desire, Then will she burn thee in soft fire, Till in her arms thou shalt expire. Lalarada. But who and what is this churrel who loves in people trees to dwell,

Starting point is 00:30:26 the people where the coal sings in frenzied songs of amorous things. Priest, when with her child unborn a woman dies, her spirit takes the form of a churrel, a maiden's form, with soft alluring eyes, where promises of future rapture dwell.

Starting point is 00:30:50 Yet is her loveliness, though passing sweet marred by the backward turning of her feet. She sits in branches of the people trees, until beneath a passing youth she sees. Should she desire him, swift she will alight, entreating softly, stay with me to-night. No safety then for him, unless he flies. Soon, in the furnace of her love,

Starting point is 00:31:22 He dies. Lalarada. But if indeed these things are so, yet what am I, that she should care, to watch me as I pass below, or notice me and find me fair? Priest,

Starting point is 00:31:43 yours are the happiest gifts that the gods have given, who have never been overready with gifts to part. youth, the divine reminiscence of some lost heaven, beauty, the dream of the eyes, the desire of the heart. Beauty, that women adore and secretly pray for, to find, to possess, to bequeath to the world again, the loveliest stake that life allows them to play for,

Starting point is 00:32:16 at the risk of death with certain foreknowledge of pain, Dancing Girl, singing in the distance. What will you do with your 17th year? You with the eyes of a dove. Give it to love. You will hold you lightly. Betray you and wound you more than slightly. But lead you into paradise nightly.

Starting point is 00:32:47 Give it to love. He heard and waited a while, but the days flew by and brought a more brilliant sun to the azure sky. The scent of the flowers grew stronger, grew keen as pain, and youth sweet ferment rose from his heart to his brain, until when the west was red and the evening breeze broke fresh on his lips, he went to the people trees. Song of the Chorrel Ah, come to me, I want you so, why will you make me wait? The golden sunsets burn and glow,

Starting point is 00:33:41 The twilight moments come and go I watch you wander to and fro Why do you hesitate? So very brief youth season is Ah, therefore waste a single night Put up your lips from mine to kiss Take the first promise of delight Upon life's pale and tragic face

Starting point is 00:34:10 youth passes like a blush. It blooms an evanescent grace. Alas, for such a little space, and fading hardly leaves a trace of all its radiant flush. We cannot force one night to last or stay a single star at will. And though the pulse of youth is fast,

Starting point is 00:34:40 the wings of time are swifter still. So much I want your silken hair, your youth, intact and free. A thousand nights serenely fair, with scented silence everywhere, consenting stars and pliant air, would pass too soon for me. Too soon the rising flood of morn, our isle of night would overflow, and force upon our eyes forlorn, its lovely but unwanted glow.

Starting point is 00:35:20 The magic garden of delight is ours. I hold the key. Take up love's scepter, yours by right, and learn his mystery and might. Ah, come and rain with me tonight, silent ecstasy. Come while the silver stars above rain down their light serene and still. And if you cannot come for love, ah, come on any terms you will. How should the youth resist, deny, or turn his lips from hers away? Nightly, beneath the unheeding sky, the fierce churrell caressed her prey. Nightly, the flickering people-trees echoed his soft and broken sighs, while the faint eddies of the breeze, in pity fanned his sleepless eyes. Fraler he grew,

Starting point is 00:36:32 more worn and pale, possession only fed desire. Like wax he felt his forces fail, consumed in her insistent fire. Till, lost in dreams, his fainting breath shed on her lips in one last sigh. He neither knew nor noticed death. This is the loveliest way to die. Beneath the people's dead he lay, pale on his face the starlight fair.

Starting point is 00:37:11 In ecstasy, he passed away. Such is the love of the Chorrel. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Rabat, Morocco, by Lawrence Hope, read for Libravox.org by Newgate Novelist. Oh, walled white city, rising from the plain. Between the grey-green grass, the grey blue sky. How we have longed for you and watched in vain, Till your pale beauty rose upon our eyes.

Starting point is 00:38:01 From orange groves, beyond your gated walls, Faint sense of citron bloom float far away. Upon each wind-worn face the perfume falls, till we forget the journey of the day. Forget the weary march, its dust and heat, The frequent carrion that taints the air, The three-inch spur, the lame and stumbling feet, The pointed stirrup, clogged with blood and hair. Forget the wretched brute that strains and strives, Staggers a few more paces with his load,

Starting point is 00:38:42 Then falls and dies beneath the open knives, the kicks and curses of the savage road. Let us forget. In such forgetfulness lies the one chance, perhaps, of life at all, while our burnt lips received the soft caress, exhaled from orange flowers beyond the wall. Ah, see, said city, grant my heart's request, where your slim minarets saw white above, your fragrant orange gardens, grant me rest,

Starting point is 00:39:23 and from some child of yours a little love. Ah, walled white city, grant me a little love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Gathered from To Ninna's Face by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novel.org to NLK in memory of June 23rd. Tristan, oh, Tristan, death has set us free. There is no barrier now, twixt me and thee, for fate allows my lips there, come to me, Tristan.

Starting point is 00:40:17 We, from this night, no more of night shall know. For us, no paling stars, no dawned. glow. Ah, I am more than glad to have it so, Tristan. I feared the poison. Now I feel it thrill through all my veins, like liquid fire, and still it brings no pain, nor any sense of ill, Tristan. Only a tender, strange desire for thee, while the winged moments perish silently. Ah, come, bless you. A calm, death forestall thee. Come to me, Tristan. Most gracious death, who sets me free to speak, he strengthens me, who makes all others weak, brings blushes and no pallor to my cheek, Tristan. Listen, I say the words I could not say, had we to rise and meet another day,

Starting point is 00:41:20 but in the falling shades of death I may, Tristan. There will be no tomorrow. I shall keep, Tristan, forever in my arms asleep. Not even dreams will share a rest so deep, Tristan. My face will be the last face thou shalt see. Thy spirit, entering on eternity, will pause to take an ultimate kiss from me, Tristan. Ah, come to me, since death has. has given the right, I love thee so, I could have died tonight without the poison's aid, from sheer delight, Tristan. Much may be done by those about to die, much may be said by lips that say goodbye, on which the last great silence soon must lie, Tristan. With death to shelter me, I greatly dare. My lips seek things mine eyes have long found fair. This is thy mouth, and this thy falling hair, Tristan. Thy falling hair, so soft upon my brow,

Starting point is 00:42:40 never a lover has been loved as thou. If this is death, I have not lived till now, Tristan. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Opium, Lees Riverside Hut at Tarku by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. The room is bare, the paper windows shiver. Beneath the ill-hung door, the sleet blows free. Yet here, delight flows forth, a gentle river to saturate my soul with ecstasy. I lie upon the heated con quiescent, lulled by the warmth of lighted straw below, while Lee, the golden-tinted adolescent, blue-clad and silent, passes to and fro. Lee, with his well-cut lips and supple fingers, his crudely lided eyes that seemed to gaze

Starting point is 00:43:57 back through ten thousand years of thought where lingers some misty splendour of the old, old days. Free from the plat, his loosened sable tresses and silken waves below the knee descend. Bringing the opium pipe,

Starting point is 00:44:20 he deftly presses the viscous drug upon the needle's end. lights it, inserts it in the pipe beside me, then through my lips the magic vapour streams, and life and love that seldom satisfied me, meet me with lovely faces in my dreams. Life it is brightest, flushed and crowned with flowers, brings gifts no mortal, waking,

Starting point is 00:44:56 air-possessed. Exquisite chances and enchanted hours, while love, love brings me you to share my rest. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In the Water Palace by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. The gracious rain caressed the fields to bountiful increase. profusion reigned throughout the land and on the borders peace. Yet in the streets the people cried, It is a shameful thing. Now all the gods are more than kind, this madness of the king. A gypsy girl his heart ensnars,

Starting point is 00:45:57 And all his days and nights are spent, unmindful of the state, in profitless delights. The Maharani sits alone, her lashes wet with tears, while all the pearls and gems of state her gypsy rival wears. In vain they bring her silken robes, in vain her maiden sing. She will but sigh, When shall I see the beauty of the king? The gypsy's youth is all but o'er, her time for children passed. The people say, Without a sun,

Starting point is 00:46:39 How shall the kingdom last? And louder yet the murmurs grow Of folly and disgrace, And faster still the Ronnie's tears Flood down her youthful face. One night, A faithful handmaiden Unto her chamber came.

Starting point is 00:47:01 Presence, she said, Tis thou were, alone canst save the king from shame. The gypsy girl we drugged tonight and stole her silks away. Rise thou and play the wanton's part until the dawn of day. We gave a filter to the king to set his brain a fire, and thou shalt take the gypsy's place to solace his desire. Thus lying joyous on thy heart, propitious be. He, thinking of the gypsy's charms, shall bring a son to thee. If this, O Ronnie, thou canst do, thy virtue will be great. Thou from himself wilt save the king, and from the king the state. But ah, remember, he must go before the skies grow light,

Starting point is 00:48:02 ere yet the filter leave his brain too clear in sense and sight, for should he dream that thou art thou, and realize the truth too suddenly, he would not spare thy beauty or thy youth. In some auspicious later hour, if our desire be gained, the tender sequence of the fraud to him can be explained. The Maharani rose and smiled, she pushed her hair away. Ah, if he stay with me tonight, at daybreak, let him slay. Then round her slender neck she twined the pearls as white as milk.

Starting point is 00:48:48 Her breast was all too young to fill the crimson bodice silk. She blushed to wear the gypsy's robes, and yet they seemed to bring her. subtle sweetness to her soul, since well they knew the king. And, ah, she said, I love him so, I tremble with delight, would that I knew the gypsy's spell to charm him through the night? Then to her rival's bower she went, who far unconscious lay, and waited in a flush of joy, till he should pass that way. He came in all his jeweled state, his dagger by his side. The filter filled him with desire fierce to be satisfied.

Starting point is 00:49:44 His youth and beauty changed her love to passion at its best, and round his neck she wound her arms and took him to her breast. She was so sweet, she loved so well. Before the night was past, he murmured, Ah, my gypsy queen, thou lovest me at last. The watchful woman by the door waited in hope and fear, praying the gods that all go well for her she held so dear. And when the night had somewhat waned and slid,

Starting point is 00:50:25 had closed his eyes. Presence, she said, unclasp thine arms and bid thy lover rise. The little Ronnie held him close, and smiling answered low. My lover is so sweet to me, I cannot let him go. And once again she came to warn,

Starting point is 00:50:52 the Ronnie begged reprieve. Love is so sweet and sweet. you to me. How can I let him leave? A third time came the handmaiden, sleep-waited both their eyes. The Rani sighed, I love him so, I cannot bid him rise. Thus all three slept, until the dawn rose tremulous and clear, and soon the sunlight through the room pierced like a golden spear. It struck the king across the eyes. He rose alert and keen. He saw the pearls he knew so well, but not his gypsy queen. The Rani waking held him still. He tore her arms apart. This for thy treachery, he cried, and stabbed her to the heart. End of poem. This recording is in the

Starting point is 00:52:00 public domain. The Crucifix by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org, Renugate Novelist. Oh, slender Christ, upon the cross before me, whose wistful eyes are sad and shaped for tears, what have we done of all that you commanded? Little enough, these last two thousand years. Should any soul be touched with grace or glory? Surely such gifts are their possessor's loss. Hemlock to Socrates, the stake for Bruno, and to your young divinity, the cross. That cross on which you hung serene and dying, until the last to your own tenets true, praying amid your long-drawn torments. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

Starting point is 00:53:12 Forgive, forgive us, for our senseless folly. After these weary centuries, who can? We, who relinquished priceless consolation that else those tender lips had left for man. How's was the cruelty, the wasteful madness, and ours, alas, the revocable loss. You touched our anguished world with gentle solace, and in return we gave you to the cross. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Winder the waste, on the wall of Peking by Lawrence Hope.

Starting point is 00:54:07 Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. The icy wind sweeps over the desolate snows, over the desert of Gobi, towards the sea. I envy this headless corpse, for it sleeps and knows no more of our human life and its agony. He was a robber when living, and scaled the wall to escape his foes. Oh, could one escape from love? They would have flayed him alive had he chanced to fall into their hands, so he strangled himself above. And after a while the body rotted and fell, the head still hangs on the nail by the broken stare. Wherever his soul is now, it has left the hell that passion makes for us here. of hate and despair. Alas, this land of cruel and desolate things,

Starting point is 00:55:16 how can the roses of happiness come to bloom? Or that butterfly, love, flutter his silken wings, while the bitter wind of the waste lashes the gloom? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Happiness by Lawrence Hope, Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist.

Starting point is 00:55:50 Nothing succeeds as Doff succeed success. None who have known success are sent to this. Have I not kissed beloved, consenting lips, and through my kisses cursed their sweet consent, turning my face towards the desert stars, to pray the chillness of the midnight breeze might cool the passion that demanded mine. And all the gold, wrenched from the stubborn rock, the utmost glory, gathered on the field. When have they proved a lure to happiness?

Starting point is 00:56:29 Happiness is so reticent and shy, so transient, so elusive, and so young. Most men but glimpse her through the morning flowers, or the faint mirage, of a passing dream. She meets her lovers on the summer seas, among the shadows of the quiet hills, grants them perchance a moment's ecstasy. Then, ere they realize her, she has gone. Dreamers of dreams arrest her wayward steps, and to the young her kindest kiss is given. But none have claimed the maiden for a bride, set her obedient by the daily hearth, or raised a child of theirs from happiness. Happiness to success is as a rose, perfumed and dewy in a nest of leaves, is to a carven gem of emerald, circling a ruby on a golden stem. Take thou the jewel, friend, and let me lose what soul I have.

Starting point is 00:57:42 among the lotus flowers. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Orange Garden by Lawrence Hope. Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Translation from the Moorish by Walter Harris of Tangier. One. I cannot find this orange garden fair.

Starting point is 00:58:16 The dim disheveled grass is wet and chill. Desolate, croaking frogs distress the air, but birds, if ever birds come here, are still. Even the oranges have lost their light and droop forlorn beneath the sombre green. A water-wheel creaks somewhere out of sight. Gray mist and shadow veil the lonely scene. And when I think I hear your coming feet, rusts. across the grass and violet leaves. Tis but the gardener who fears to meet,

Starting point is 00:58:57 Among the gloom, some fruit-attracted thieves. Two. Fair, ah, fair, is the sunny orange garden, secret and shady, scented and green. Gold, red gold are the oranges in clusters. fragrant and bright in their ripened sheen. Even the croaking of the frogs is music, even the creek of the wheel is song. Straight to my naked heart the wild birds warble, strikes in cadence, tremulously strong.

Starting point is 00:59:44 Now the old gardener passes discreetly, never upraising his god. eyes. For here in the violets, at rest, beside me, sweet and consenting, my loved one lies. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Dra de Soigneur by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. The Aspins shiver by the Osier bed. the waters ripple in September's sun among the rushes, where I sit and dream, my basket empty and my work undone. I watch the spirals of blue smoke arise above the green of oak and chestnut tree. Only one week of wistful weariness, before as custom bids, I go to thee.

Starting point is 01:00:59 but wilt thou take thy right my brother's wife went to the castle on her wedding-day and when thou saw'st her shivering descent didst thou not say in kindness go thy way untouched by me even as thou hast come save in the way of gifts take this and this and she poor little rejoined her mate, unharmed, unhonored, even by a kiss. Last week I saw her at her cottage door, nursing her clumsy child. No wistful sigh, for what her peasant arms might yet have held. A child of thine broke her serenity. Ah, if I knew how thou wilt deal with me, who knows? Who knows? Who knows? They tell me I am fair, and any beauty that I may possess, have I not kept it for thy sake with care? To guard a pallor that might blush for thee, shading the sun-rays from this face of mine, smoothing my hands with milk from elder flowers, lest the rough skin should jar the silk of thine.

Starting point is 01:02:26 Ah, how I loved thee, even as a child watching thee ride across the village square, the curls blown backwards from thy vivid face, thy penins lifted on the summer air. How I have envied brides who passed thy gates, and when I heard the village gossip say thou wert not as thy fathers, oft refused to claim thy privilege. I turned away, so glad and yet so sad. It well may be they will not notice me, those eyes of thine. Yet surely love will find some soft appeal to draw their gaze to me, thy lips to mine. My cousin loves me. In his kindly eyes lies the clear promise of a calm, content. I, wedding him, ensure his happiness, as thou insurrest mine, shouldst thou consent. Ah, if thou shouldst be kind and set thy seal on me and mine forever. Women know the secret ways of love and all its lore, if, ah, dear God in heaven, if this were so,

Starting point is 01:03:56 my first-born should be thine then all my life will and must keep the memory of thee even as thou art printed on my heart so on my being must thy impress be no second lover and no second child efface the imprint of the first who came and on the golden sands of youth inscribed light but so indelibly his name. Many accustomed, many an old abuse, thy people cherish still, unknown to thee. My cousin whispers me among the reeds, What has the priest to do with thee and me? Let us forestall our marriage.

Starting point is 01:04:49 Thus thy child will be thy husbands, not a lawless thing born of injustice. Ah, how blind men are, how strange their words of careless kindness ring, it is the sweetest justice of our lives, that once, ere settling to our lifelong task of serving bores and raising sons to them, one golden moment, too divine to ask in our most daring prayers, is flung to us by our time-honoured custom, strange decree, one perfect hour of radiant romance is lent to us. Will it be lent to me? Rarely men understand our way of love, how that to women in their wedding hours, lover and priest and king are blent in one, hence the odd worship of these hearts of ours. At times love, at times love, For a little lifts the veil, and men and women see each other's heart, But swiftly passion comes, obscuring all,

Starting point is 01:06:06 And thus the nearing souls are swept apart. To us love is a sacred right, To men, custom, perhaps affection, or desire. Before we hold our lovers in our arms, they are too fiercely amorous to inquire, and after too indifferent, thus our souls remain an unread chapter to the end, and those whose very life is blent with ours cannot be called with justice, even friend. Ah, me, I dream and dream.

Starting point is 01:06:50 My basket lies unfilled beside me, while the Aspins part their trembling leaves, and show the castle walls that rest my eyes, and draw my anxious heart, because they hold its treasure. Ah, Signia, so loved, so longed for, passing strange it seems that I shall speak to thee, to whom I speak daily in thought, and nightly through my dreams. Thou mayst misunderstand, excess of love takes the pale lips of coldness or of art, and yet my eyes must surely find some way to show the white heat burning at my heart. Sinha, not so dissimilar am I from thee and thine. Thou know'st thy father's ways, I and his fathers. much the castle blood are mixed with the village stream in former days. Signs of more brilliant lineage than my own, many have marked in me.

Starting point is 01:08:06 Take heed of this. Find me not too unworthy of thine arms. These lips are thine, knowing no other kiss. Think, if thou givest me and you. an hour's delight, it will be all my life will ever know. Signor, have pity on this love of mine, and lend thyself to me before I go back to my narrow life. The whitest star may let its pure and trembling beauty rest in the dim silver of the smallest

Starting point is 01:08:46 pool. wherefore not thou a moment on my breast. I am thine own by immemorial right. Stoop thou and take that privilege of thine. An hour's dalliance in thy life, senor, and an eternal memory in mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Korean song by Lawrence Hope, read for Liberibur,

Starting point is 01:09:25 Verovox.org by Nugate Novelist. Ah, paddle not thou afar from shore, where the great stream meets the sea. The river pirates will snatch thy gold and beat out thy life from thee. But thine eyes, my beloved, thine eyes, have they no peril for me? Ah, go not down to the dens by night, where they sell thee poppied dreams. like evil eyes through the spiral smoke the lighted opium gleams. What of thine eyes, oh, my beloved, have they no alluring beams? Estray not where last year's lotus stalks are gripped in the frozen mere.

Starting point is 01:10:19 The treacherous ice is over thin. It is not the ice, I fear, but thine eyes, my beloved, line eyes, so dangerous and so dear. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Stars of the Desert by Lawrence Hope. Read for Librivox.org when you get novelist. Muhammad Akram's Night Watch.

Starting point is 01:10:57 The night is calm and all the stars are burning. Around our camp the sands stretch far away. no sound except the lonely jackals howling until the horses startled wake and nay only the walls of one thin tent of canvas only a yard of yellow desert sand between us two and yet i know you distant as though you lived in some far northern land here at the doorway of my tent i linger to watch in yours the shadow and the light the hungry soul within me burning burning has the stars burn throughout the eastern night I know well how you sleep, your head thrown backwards, your loose hair ruffled up and disarrayed, your fervent eyes still somber in their slumber from the dark circle of the lashes shade. I listen to your even-cadenced breathing, from the soft curve of parted lips set free.

Starting point is 01:12:23 Only a slender wall of wind-stead canvas between your loveliness asleep and me. Sleep on, I sit and watch your tent in silence, white as a sail upon this sandy sea. And know the desert's self is not more boundless, then is the distance, twixt yourself and me. Know that I am some low-red planet burning, you in the zenith, a serene white star, and I to you, less than the lonely jackals that howl among the sandy wastes afar. Sleep on. The desert sleeps around you, quiet, watched by the restless, golden stars of stars above. I, let us sleep. You to your careless waking. I, with my dreams of unrequited love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Fisherman's Bride by Lawrence Hope,

Starting point is 01:13:52 read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. The Great Grey Waves with an angry moan, on the patient sand, the spray from their crests is backwards blown by the strong wind from the land. As curls are blown from a maiden's face and flutter behind her free, the spin drift blows from the waves that race, from stress of the outer sea. The restless wind has ever a sigh, and the waves are salt as tears, maybe because of the dead who lie Where never the sunlight peers One curl of his hair is more to me Than a thousand waves of thine

Starting point is 01:14:42 Yet is his life in thy charge, O sea And also, and therefore mine Great sins are written against thy name In records of olden times Art thou not filled with sorrow and shame, remembering ancient crimes? Then spare, oh, spare this lover of mine, thou queen of a million ships. Content thee with that coral of thine, and leave me my lover's lips. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:15:30 The end by Lawrence Hope. read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. In the past I have craved for many a thing whenever you answered, no. Now I would ask you for one thing more. For God's sake, let me go. Truly the Greeks were wise who smiled, saying, in days gone by,

Starting point is 01:15:59 love has only the heart of a child and the wings of a butterfly. Ah, for the cabined sampans floating free! Ah, for the tropic moonlit nights that fling unnecessary silver on a sea, itself with phosphorescent lighter glow. Ah, for the waving palms along the shore! Craft, long laid up in a dockyard dry, wearily yearn't of feet. EARN to feel the cool caresses of living water, pressing against the keel. A ship remembers the open sky, anchored in roadstead ease, and all that the wind and waves have

Starting point is 01:16:48 totter in far-off perilous seas. Amidst the strife of clamorous speeches and eager gold-snatching hands, the soul grows faint for the yellow beaches. the loneliness of the wind-swept reaches, and the calm of eastern lands. My foot is a thrill for the steel of the stirrup. My palms are astir for the grip of an oar. The whole of my body is sick for the sea, and the peace of a desolate shore. Perhaps you gave me what you call love. I had called it another name. but anyway i am tired of playing take all the stakes of the sorry game i wonder you thought me worth betraying but what is there now that is worth the saying since the end must be the same I shall piece together my broken youth, if allt of youth, remain, and when at last the wreck of me reaches, beyond the lilt of persuasive speeches. I question if ever you spoke the truth. The palm-tree shade of the coral beaches, the cool retreat of the cinnamon grove, peace will find me again. For youth, who.

Starting point is 01:18:25 sleeps so soundly and so well, on any couch and under any stars, shall join with rest and weave a magic spell to soothe the memory of my prison bars. Serenity shall raise pavilions o' me, freedom and dreams console me with a smile, Hope, the eternal mirage, dance before me, and love, no more of love for me a while. I seek to celebrate my glad release, the tense of silence and the camp of peace. That a little island surf-circled, it waits on the saffrean waves for me, to the right of the fairway through the straits as you sail to the China Sea. A pile-built hut and a captive boat, at the foot of the wave-washed stair afloat, blue water a break upon the beach, the soft, vague sound of Malayan speech. Ah, the sun-gilt rest of that island shore, mind the folly to strive for more.

Starting point is 01:19:46 I shall go the way of the open sea To the lands I knew before you came And the cool clean breezes Shall blow from me The memory of your name The transient sorrow you cause me now Will fade away in the distance dim But love is a god

Starting point is 01:20:06 And I wonder how You will make your peace with him End of poem This recording is in the public domain The Consolation of Dreams by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. Farewell, oh, sapphire eyes, serene and clear, tender and careless. Not the stars above could take less heed of one who held them dear than you, beloved, who could not, would not love. Ah, sapphire eyes, who could not, would not care, or shed on me their soft indifferent beans.

Starting point is 01:21:06 The long white day may keep you far as fair, yet you come very near to me in dreams. Dreams, when I force you with soft violence to turn on me their tender azure shine, and tune your voice to this sweet eloquence. I am your lover. Lend your lips to mine. Refuse me not. Ah, when would I refuse? Turn here your face.

Starting point is 01:21:41 When would I turn away? I, whose one wish is that you should infuse your life in mine, in love's completest way. I, who had held that life had given me all, had it, oh, if it had but given me you, had fate but ordered your soft light to fall across my solitudes, O eyes of blue, In the far east to the old religion say, man rises newest to the gods above, for a brief space becoming even as they, in the last ecstasy of human love. Might I not also rise and reach your soul, if once its passionate life had passed to me,

Starting point is 01:22:38 in the surrender of your self-control, than guarded moments of your ecstasy? For though you hold that love is brief and mortal, what other way can you? I attain to you. I know, oh, azure eyes, no other portal to reach the mind beyond your mystic blue. And yet, what use these dear delusive dreams? The night wears through, the stars grow pale above. Farewell, oh sapphires, set in tears. There seems no hope, no rest. You would not, could not love. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:23:35 This recording is in the public domain. Men should be judged by Lawrence Hope. Read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. Men should be judged, not by their tint of skin, the gods they serve, the vintage that they drink, nor by the way they fight or love or sin, but by the quality of thought they think. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Island of Desolation, Song of Muhammad Akram, by Lawrence Hope, Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Here on the island of my desolation, I look across the wastes of Azure Sea.

Starting point is 01:24:43 None of the ships that pass in exultation have any cargo or commands for me. Not in the red of any joyous morning, not in the gold of any sunset light, will they run up the flag to give me warning, that the sea, longed-for vessel looms in sight. Sometimes I light the beacon fires of passion to lure frail pleasure craft towards the shore, join the night revels in half-hearted fashion, only to wake more lonely than before.

Starting point is 01:25:23 Now and again some friendly soul has landed, taken his careless welcome, sailed away, and in the time of tempest, ships have stranded, spilling rich merchandise about the bay. White bones among the mangroves glisten dimly, drift with the water, in the sunshine, bleach, while the gaunt ribs of wreckage rising grimly guard the forlornness of the wind-swept beach. Inland, among the fern and seeding the, grasses, where the acacia, silken-tasseled, waves, the summer wind sighs softly as it passes, over the green of half-forgotten graves. Little I heed, my eyes gaze ever seaward, straining to glimpse the ship I

Starting point is 01:26:23 never see. My constant soul set like a compass, thee word, even as thine was always turned from me. Ah, how I loved thee, hoping to forget thee, where are the things I did not vainly try. But every cell and fibre still regret thee, even in death, remembrance will not die. If thou shouldst seek me, though thou comest never, my hopes, like lighthouse rays, stream forth to thee, thou wouldst still find me faithful, watching ever, or buried with my face towards the sea. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A sea pink by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. She came, a maiden from the north, to dwell among a southern race, and lovely northern eyes looked forth

Starting point is 01:27:45 in azure from her oval face. Her hair was like the pale, faint gold, September's sun sheds oar the land, and soft to touch and slim to hold. the white perfection of her hand. Vail loved her on that southern shore. Tall fishermen and dark-haired boys were fain to linger around her door with shells and kindred ocean toys.

Starting point is 01:28:19 Yet was their love restrained by fear, so still she was, so calm and pale. She seemed a star remotely dear, no human love might dare assail whilst in her chamber small and bright with sea-pinks and blue lavender she wandered through the summer night while love had never come to her Her fancy wandered to the shore, sunburnt beneath the noonday skies. Again the fisher lads she saw, their willing arms and eager eyes, saw their young smiles, whose tender gleams, held all the love she had not known, and, blushing in her morning dreams, felt their red lips. against her own.

Starting point is 01:29:21 But all day long her self-control concealed her loneliness too well. Alas! These barriers of the soul, so slight, yet so invincible. Time passed. Her azure eyes grew sad. Dull sorrow dimmed their dancing blue,

Starting point is 01:29:48 while many a pensive. Fischer Lad, envied the seagulls as they flew, envied them their sweet liberty, free of the ocean, free to love, on light, untrammeled wings, while he as well might woo the stars above as the young maiden of his choice. Her gentle beauty bloomed in vain. She knew no art. She knew no art. he found no voice to bridge the gulf between them twain. How should a fisher lad aspire to win a thing as fair as this? So, after days of dumb desire, some duskier maiden claimed his kiss. And day by day the ripples broke, around the fissures in the be.

Starting point is 01:30:50 bay. Night after night, alone she woke, till all her youth had passed away. The swift, sweet years when she was young, her golden years slipped lightly past, and thus the song remained unsung, the rose ungathered till the last. End of poem. This recording is in the public The Date Garden by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. I dreamt last night you were mine indeed, and I prayed the dream to stay, but this world of hours, with reckless haste, rushed on to another day. I thought we slapped on the desert sands where the old date gardens lie, and a golden mist of quivering stars was scattered across the sky. There in the limitless silences, where only the jackals live, you were kind to me as you are not kind,

Starting point is 01:32:16 and gave what you will not give. And when the hands were fallen apart, and the longing lips grown loathe, a little wind from under the stars came down and caressed us both. Then, leaning against your heart, I said, Ah, it were a lovely thing, if from this blossoming time of ours some flower of life should spring. and though mankind, with its narrow sight, might christen it child of shame, the people's heart, which is always true, would give it a sweeter name. Love child, name that is tender with love, with joyous passion and youth, man's own sad laws have blinded his eyes, but some of us see. the truth. If mine own hand had written my fate, I know I had rather been, fruit of a wild and

Starting point is 01:33:30 exquisite love than the child of dull routine. Should I not give to children of yours, created in sheer delight, the cool, clear soul of this starlit waste, the peace of the desert night? and all our fervour and youth and force would they not feel the same surely the torch of life should be lit at the whitest heat of the flame lean back lean back till your loosened hair lies soft on the desert sands that all yourself may abandon be to my reverent lips and hands. When first I saw you, my well-beloved, in my secret heart I said, ah, that the lips might follow the eyes and feast where these have fed. And now that thine own have set mine free, be still, oh my heart, be still, I only fear that my life may wane before they have had their will.

Starting point is 01:34:53 Thus I spoke in the visions of night, as I may not speak by day, but the cruel hours with reckless speed have carried my dream away. The night is over, the stars have paled, the magic of sleep has flown. The white-eyed day. leaping into the world, found me, as ever alone. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Trees of Warncliff House by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist.

Starting point is 01:35:48 Oh, green and leafy Warncliff trees, let tremble to and fro, you rustle in the languid breeze, and catch the evening glow. Across the dusty, gloomy street, I note your tender sheen, But unto me it is not sweet, Who see what I have seen. The slender cocoa palms I crave, Beside a purple sea,

Starting point is 01:36:19 Where every phosphorescent wave leaps up in ecstasy, Towards the tangled stars above, that sparkle in the blue. These are the things I know in love. How can I care for you? I always feel a sense of loss if, at the close of day, I cannot see the southern cross

Starting point is 01:36:45 break through the gathered grey, nor watch the liquid moonlight gleam among the temples white and realise that lovely dream we call an eastern night. Though I am patient of the heat, forth from the window lean, to cool my sight across the street

Starting point is 01:37:09 amidst your shaded green, your leaves, refreshed by summer showers, are not to me, who feast my fancy on those other flowers that burn about the yeast, for i have seen the lotus bloom on lakes like inland seas and white magnolias through the gloom moon-like among the trees

Starting point is 01:37:41 have watched the pale tuburoes aglow with phosphorescent light and water-lilies lying low on sacred tanks at night have wandered where the mogra flowers exceeding exhale their scent at noon and dreamt sweet dreams where jasmine bowers grow white beneath the moon have seen the poppy's crimson wave o'erflow the land for miles and roses on an eastern grave turn even death to smiles by night my fancy spreads his wings envisions that console but all day long remembered things are dragging at my soul i want the silver on the sea the surf along the shore the ruined mosque whose weeds grow free, where princes prayed of yore. I want the lonely level sands stretched out beneath the sun, the sadness of the old, old lands whose destiny is done, the glory and the grace that cling about the mountain crest, where tunes of many a faithless king, God faithfully their rest, not rightly would i speak of love or estimate his power but every star that wheels above and each enamelled flower that sends pervasive influence to touch the human mind

Starting point is 01:39:31 appeals to some strange inner sense that love can never find love always needs his ally youth or lost is all his charm a sunset is a golden truth nor age nor ill can harm and a loveliness will lend the earth its radiance and sheen if but one rosebud come to birth one single leaf grow green. Ah, waving trees of Warncliff House, but tremble to and fro. Old dreams and fancies you arouse, old fires you set aglow. Your shaded greenness soothes the eye, worn out with dusty hours. But still I crave that eastern sky, those brilliant, old greenness, soothes the eye, worn out with dusty hours. But still I crave that eastern sky, those brilliant orient flowers. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:40:45 All farewells should be gently spoken by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate novelist. I, smooth your hair for another lover. Refold the Saturn, restring the pearls, lest those who will take my place discover discoloured tints, and dishevelled curls. Lift up those delicate lips that mine reddened with kisses, but yesterday. Let others drink the dregs of the wine.

Starting point is 01:41:20 We two have tasted and flung away. I wish you well. Go, gather the gold, the little triumphs you hold so dear. For you the pasture, the sheltered fold, ways smoothed by custom and fenced by fear. You could not have lived aloof, afar in golden deserts, by lonely streams. Be rich, be courted, be all you are, but seek not silence, nor love, nor dreams. Yet what am I that my song should shame you?

Starting point is 01:41:59 What strength have I that I call you weak? Ah, love alone has the right to blame you, and he is a god and will not speak. One thing there is yet to be glad of, fate in making us one has not left us three. No child shall inherit our love's estate, to be false like you or forlorn like me. What if your sweet and treacherous eyes had smiled at me from a child's estate? of mine. Your delicate lips, so apt at lies, lived and laughed, a perpetual sign of fitful passion and frenzied hours that now are utterly passed away, dead and forgotten as last year's flowers, and all sweet things that have had their day. Yet last farewells should be gently spoken,

Starting point is 01:43:00 and times of pleasure let no man grudge. Of things once loved, though his heart be broken, a lover has never the right to judge. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Garden Song by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate novelist. Forgive me, in that I kissed your lips too fiercely or too soon. It was the fault of the nightingale, singing against the moon. If reason swerved in a brief eclipse, the while I sinned my sin, opposed to love, it must always fail, since love must always win. The flowers rejoiced in that kiss of ours, even as they were fain, the great night moths should ravage their hearts, seeking for golden gain, bringing them pollen from other flowers,

Starting point is 01:44:13 set open through the night, to play their motionless, mystic parts in nature's marriage right. And who was I to resist, withstand that charm of fragrant gloom? A summer night has a thousand powers, have scent, of scent, and stars and bloom. Forgive me, in that my errant hand caressed your silken hair. Oh, lay the blame on the orange flowers. You know how sweet they were. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Matchmaker by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. but few indeed adored, with the devotion paid to thee, O Lord. She bids me steal the tassel of thy sword, thinking of love.

Starting point is 01:45:27 That she may fasten it above her bed, Thus will some subtle sense of thee be shed When the wind blows across its gold and red. Fancy of love! Further, she bade me say these words. to thee. Downcast and long, although my lashes be, line eyes have burnt into the heart of me. Language of love. Mimosa wood, though on the threshold laid, and subject unto passing footsteps made, can still send forth fresh chutelets, unafraid. Fable of love. Such is the tree's innate vitality.

Starting point is 01:46:15 and if my heart were trampled down by thee, still would new shoots of love arise from me, fervor of love. As waits the sacrifice upon the pyre, fearing, yet longing for, the sacred fire. Her beauty craves the flame of thy desire, master of love. There is an island in the southern sea, where maidens, when they children cease to be, with festivals of laughter are set free, island of love. Set free to love, none hinder them nor chide, laughing, they call their lovers to their side, laughing, their lovers leave them, satisfied, joyous with love. Go thou to her, such laughter will be thine, and when her arms about thy youth entwine, thou wilt be grateful for these words of mine.

Starting point is 01:47:30 Message of love. I leave thee, Lord, and if thou shouldst consent, and thus thy gracious life with hers be blent, remember in the days of thy content, this slave of love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Vain Glory by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. If you feel in the chaos of things, life is somewhat a sorrowful jest. Come to the shadow of love's soft wings, to starlit silence and dreams and rest, Leaving the glory, the pomp, the power, fame and fortune and folly and fret,

Starting point is 01:48:32 the Western sun is a golden flower, come to love, come to forget. Turn your tender and radiant eyes, eyes like amethysts, jewelled and clear, what do they see in the world to prize? Which of its baubles would they hold dear? Vain are the glories, every one, vain to conquer and vain to regret. The falling shadows engulf the sun. Come to love, come to forget. The flag of glory is quickly filled, the sword of honour is hardly more.

Starting point is 01:49:16 To those who wander about the world, the sea. standards vary. One is not sure. One's drifting soul in life's ebb and flow would fain be faithful to some things yet, but youth is calling, the sun is low. Come to love, come to forget. From shade of sorrow or stress of strife, here in the desert, how far one seems. oh follow your fancy lend your life to the golden guidance of your dreams and come to me you are free to go ere ever the stars of morning set the fires of sunset are burning low come to love come to forget end of poem this recording is in the public domain worth while by lawrence hope read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. I asked of my desolate, shipwrecked soul,

Starting point is 01:50:38 wouldst thou rather never have met, the one whom thou lovest beyond control, and whom thou adorest yet? Back from the senses, the heart, the brain, came the answer swiftly thrown. What matter the price? We would pay it again. We have had, we have loved, we have known.

Starting point is 01:51:05 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Invitation to the Jungle by Lawrence Hope. Read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. The jungle gloom is dim and cool, and even through the noonday heat, among the reeds beside the pool, the silent air is freshly sweet. though desert winds sandladen pass and all the tree-tops bend and sigh no breezes stir the flower-filled grass beside the lake where we shall lie we shall not hear the temple bells the tom-tom's sad insistent beat the far bazaar whose murmur swells with eager cries and restless feet We shall not know the myriad cares that make the home's soft tyranny,

Starting point is 01:52:14 and all the temple's lip-worn prayers, its ordered gifts, will pass us by. Those lip-worn prayers, whose sense is lost, they're faced by long and tearful use, by thousands daily sky-words tossed, while still the gods reject, refuse, let others pay the reverence due with waving lights and sacred flowers i pray no more except to you my faith is in this love of ours and i shall twine the cus-cass-grass to shield the thing i hold so dear what if the fearside panthers pass i know their ways and have no fear the jungle is my native land and love shall smooth its paths for you ah could i make you understand how well it is this thing you do

Starting point is 01:53:22 you leave the world and passing by its tonnished gold and futile strife gain freedom love the open sky the flowers upon the tree of life End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Singeb Tree by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. I am the flowery singeb tree, the sweetest thing in the world, with silvery leaves on a rugged stem, when golden buds incurled. Oh, traveller, turn thy face to me, ere ever thy tent be furled. bring here the maiden of thy desire in my scented shade to rest and be she cold as bitterest snow on tocti suleiman's crest yet she shall open her arms to thee and entreat to be caressed and she shall crave for thy love and thee who was erst so coldly calm for the subtle sense of my honeyed flowers shall soon

Starting point is 01:54:46 her like a charm, till she shall long for a child of thine to nestle within her arm. For I am the flower of Khorasan, the silvery singeb tree, and he who pitches his camp beneath shall dream of love and of me, as my scented breath steals through the tent to enhance his ecstasy. And, end up to the End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Outlaw by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Worn we lie on the shimmering sand, well quit of the world and free. The scent of the flowers that bloom in land is wafted over the sea. I lean on your shoulder, round and bare, as soft as a rock.

Starting point is 01:55:55 and Pich, and watch the weed like a woman's hair, Drift up on the curving beach. Twilight falls on the violet hills, On silver surf at their feet, From groves of orange are wild bird trills, Songs that are cruelly sweet. Lilic in lemon and rose and grey,

Starting point is 01:56:23 Lie soft on the deep, soft on the dimpled waves. The golden tribute of parting day is laid on the moorish graves. The lonely dead who are dispossessed, a minaret marks their creed. Grim cactus hedges enshrine their rest. What need, my brothers, what need? They faced the curses and cares of life, and how should they fear in death the howls of the horse hyena's strife, their carrion tainted breath? Nay, well beloved, why shudder and thrill when that graveyard meets your view? Gardens of rest, or death, if you will, are closed for a while to you. safe in your youth, which is my reproach, I take it to stifle pain, as men repel the waves that encroach

Starting point is 01:57:27 from stress of the outer main, building a dyke or a strong sea wall, but if this they fail to do, collecting wreckage, things slight and small, for these have their value too. As massed together in heaps they lie, Resisting the rising tide, And slowly, surely, the waves defy, the builders are satisfied. Thus have I taken your sixteen years Toward my sorrow away And your young eyes that have known no tears Look gaily over the bay Towards the country of sober skies

Starting point is 01:58:15 The land of the sullen sea Where dwell the azure, disdainful eyes That never had light for me many the rules in the stressful north and wearier most than wise. But though I wandered away, came forth from under those clouded skies. Two laws are fixed as the stars above for every race and climb. One is the cruel sweetness of love, and one the shortness of time. ah well beloved though i may not spend the best of my soul on you ask of me as you would of a friend all that i can i will do

Starting point is 01:59:08 for now that none have the right to say this thing is not meat for thee i take what happiness drifts my way well quit of the world and free end of poem this recording is in the the public domain. Return by Lawrence Hope, read for the bravox.org by Newgate Novelist. Serene and slender and more than ivory white, whose sphinx-like riddle it never was mine to read, I implore thee, by all her moments of past delight, have pity, take heed. How long, O Lord, this crucifixion of me, whose whole soul faints for a word, for a single touch, O thou, whom I seek through thy sinister mystery, and, understanding so little, desire so much, have pity on me. Thy hair was gold, the pale, dim gold of the north,

Starting point is 02:00:27 thy weary attitudes quiet in graceful rest, but thy tortured and desperate soul looked wildly forth through the eyes of a haunted man, distraught, distressed by sorrow or wrath. I would rather share thy hell that I dimly guess than any alien heaven unknown of thee. Oh, out of thine own despair,

Starting point is 02:00:57 Beloved, heed my distress, and return to me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Philosophy of Mourning by Lawrence Hope, read for Librelox.org by Newgate Novelist. Slave. Aye, he is fair, yet not indeed so fair as thou transfigurest him, in thine own eyes, clear as the morning air. Aye, he is strong and live, yet not in truth as thou rememberest him. Tis the intoxication of thy youth.

Starting point is 02:01:47 Mistress of mine, for once let truth be told. These lovers are less lovely than they seem. Tis love who subtly turns their brass to gold, with the alluring magic of a dream. Princess thy chatter girl is like a nest of jays disturb me not with jangling coffee trays reclose the lattice and shut out the light i have no haste to end the peace of night he whom i love is like a lonely tower lit by the sunlight of a great renown aspiring skyward in unconscious power above the dust and clamour of the town the west wind fanned the battle-munted crest and in the frolic of an idle hour left a light seed among the stones to rest which later bloomed a scented golden flower

Starting point is 02:02:55 O say Oma, so much desired of me, lovely and lone and lofty as thou art, may it be written in my fate's decree, to plant love's golden flower against thy heart, and if love be the dream thou say'st it is, what matter, so it bring that face of his near unto mine, and longing find relief, i cannot if the dream be true or no so it be not too brief slave tis ever so and still the young waste in love's fitful flame the force that else had brought them gold and fame princess didst thou not tell me of one who bought thy youth how that his age hindered his pleasure in thee spite of his gold gained without pity or roof his uncut emeralds and pearls of the sea and what of him who headed the tribes last year against the sultan when he had lost the game blinded and burnt and broken with pain and fear cared he then for the passing mirage of fame slave truly men gain not much for all their strife princess there are some chapters in the book of life pages whose print demands the morning light, that youth alone can understand a right. These I would read while time is with me still, let after happenings be what they will. For this I hold, that when a woman lies, watching her beauty fire her lover's eyes, while the lithe strength

Starting point is 02:04:57 she worshipped from afar, melts in her arms and quivers on her breast, she knows that the utmost sense of joy and rest that fate has given to this luckless star men call the world. And though the dream may fade, passing away a sunshine into shade, memories of its light will still assuage, the weariness that haunts the after-rage. So shall she see the fire in others' eyes, hear the quick questions, and the low replies, and these shall not disturb her inward rest, since in her spring she also knew the best. But those who let the days of youth drift by, scorning to share a lover's ecstasy, they shall lament when all their youth has flown, most bitterly, because they have not known. Ah, close the lattice.

Starting point is 02:06:06 Leave me to my dreams. Shut out the brightness of the morning beams. Let me return. Tonight where silence is. And the worn beauty of that face of his. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Slave by Lawrence Hope.

Starting point is 02:06:35 Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Noveles. In purple haze the sun has set, A tuft of palms, a minaret, rise clear against the sky. The silence of the scented air Sturs to a sense of evening prayer at the Muzines cry. What care have I that yesterday I led thee as a slave away From Maroc's marketplace? Are we not all the slaves of love? The very stars that wheel above are bound by time and space.

Starting point is 02:07:19 I struck the fetters from thy hands, only to forge thee stronger bands. Leastways, t'was my desire to hold thy captive soul to me, even as mine is chained to thee by links of passionate fire. I want thee for thy beauty's sake, though not as owner will I take, thou art entirely free. Yet, if thy gaze of sombre fire find aught in me to wake desire, then give thyself to me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Seasons by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. youth would god that i could love thee less my days are lost in dreams of thee i do my work in weariness till kindly twilight sets me free throughout the night thy beauty burns the more possessed the more desired until another day returns to find me desperately tired middle age

Starting point is 02:08:45 ah me that i could love thee more i know thee kind i see thee fair why can i not as oft of yore in soft caresses lose my care at times life's dragging afternoon is quickened by thy morning charms i seek thee but alas i soon forget thee even in thine arms age. These, lovers, who can understand their vivid joy, their wild despair, he does but live to kiss her hand, and she would die to touch his hair. Love is an enemy to rest, which surely his life's dearest good. Yet, something stirs within my breast and murmurs, once you understood. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 02:10:09 Devotion of Aziz to Mir Khan by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox. Dotter by Newgate novelist. Mir Khan. And now, Aziz, I take my leave of thee. Aziz, farewell, Mirkan. Mierkan, hast thou no more to say? Aziz, I, saying farewell to thee, take leave of all. Mirkan, thou knowest, Aziz, I shall return to thee, I do but leave thee now at thy command. Aziz.

Starting point is 02:10:54 Aye, at my prayer. Mir Khan, Indeed I shall return, ere the fifth sunset gild these barren hills. I would have stayed with thee, have stayed alone, did I not feel the truth of all thy words,

Starting point is 02:11:12 how that my name entails a greater risk than thine, my foster-brother. Yet I go, somewhat in doubt, Aziz. I have no doubt at all, only go quickly, lest my heart should break. Mir Khan. See now, Aziz, it is but as thou sayest. If I should stay, they will imprison me, and hold me long, knowing my father's name makes me a hostage worthy to be held, whilst thee they will not. Aziz

Starting point is 02:11:48 Me they will not hold Mir Khan What dost thou murmur? Aziz Nothing, go Mirkan The last faint light has left the lilac hills And now shouldst start Even disguised as now in the disfiguring raiment of a slave

Starting point is 02:12:13 Thy beauty shines like evening's a blaze through dusky mists that but enhance their glow. Walk warily, Mir Khan, and hide thine eyes, lest women see, and passion shipwreck thee, ere thou hast reached to the fort. Mir Khan, whence I return with a picked squadron to deliver thee. Aziz, why dost thou hesitate? Meir Khan. Farewells are sad, and there is something in thine eyes, Aziz. Dost thou, thou canst not, doubt of my return? Aziz, I doubt thee not, Mir Khan. Another star has risen above the purple mountain crest,

Starting point is 02:13:09 thou shouldst be gone. Mirkan, believe me. Aziz, I believe, indeed I know, thine inmost secret thoughts are mine, were always mine. Ah, try me not, leave me, whilst I can bid thee, leave me. Go, lest I implore thee, stay and die with me. Mirkan, die. Die, but thou diest not. I had not changed my state in garments with thee, had a thought of death to thee, or even the chance of death, glanced on my mind. Nay, then, I stay, Aziz.

Starting point is 02:13:53 Aziz, there is no risk. Thou art so much to me, even a five days parting moves me so, breaks up my courage, till I hardly heed what words I say. go now thou art aziz the slave remember not mere khan beloved of women and ever in their snares even as now mere khan take thou my opium aziz nay thou wilt need it in the mountain pass i have my own mere khan thy known thine own was given to me long since thou knowest. Aziz, I tell thee I want it not. Mir Khan. Well, as thou wilt,

Starting point is 02:14:48 Aziz, farewell. Aziz, Farewell, Aziz. Ah, thou art gone indeed. Mir Khan, Mir Khan, return to me, return. I am lost. I am dead.

Starting point is 02:15:08 head. Is that the sound of his returning feet? Nay, it is but a stone, his horse's hoof sets leaping down the hillside. Oh, mere Khan, thou art gone from me, and my life is gone with thee. I, thou hast gone, and left me to my fate, knowing I knew thou knewest, for thou didst know. last midnight when sheer offsul came to me and told me the shah zada had decreed that thou shouldst die for that light love of thine amongst his women also he made known thou hadst arranged to change with me to say stay thou aziz while i mere khan return to bring thee speedy succour from the fort and if they find that thou art but aziz aziz the slave and not the lord mere khan they will not wrong thee will not torture thee as they would torture me the son of kings further shirafzul said thou smiling spake'st saying he loves me so he will remain even with certain death confronting him ay but thou knewst me well he will remain there was no need of any speech of thine to bid me stay am i not thine indeed for life or death oh i am glad mere khan glad that thou givest me this exquisite gift

Starting point is 02:16:55 even the gift of death, death for thy sake. Thy beauty was ever a perfect thing to me, gracious and free, to see thy luminous eyes lit with the longing of thine ardent soul, ablaze, like golden suns, in love or war, to touch thy feet, setting thy stirrup irons, or rest my lips upon thy drinking cup. These were the joys of Aziz, serving thee, living unnoticed with thee in thy tents. Women have loved me, even me, Mir Khan, not with the adoration given to thee, but with kind words and gentle ways that fell on my worn heart as rain on dusty flowers.

Starting point is 02:17:49 Perhaps it was pity, not love. I do not know. But this devotion that I have for thee, this is another thing. I have no words to tell thee what thou knewest and didst not heed. Why shouldst thou heed? What could I do for thee, to whom the whole world is willing to give its all, holding that all, less than the sight of thee. When at tomorrow's dawn they torture me, burning my eyes, I shall remember thine, the luminous circles of light I so adored. And when they crush my limbs, I shall find peace, knowing that thine, safe in the distant fort, amongst thy household rest in licit love. How I have envied them the things they did.

Starting point is 02:18:51 The women who loved thee and were loved by thee envied their jewelled hands the right to play and that soft hair of thine. Their little teeth, the law they allowed themselves to cling and bite thy rounded shoulder. I, who was not to thee, set to prepare the couch to smooth the quilt once i remember crouched against thy tent i sought for warmth thou wouldst have pardoned me so cold it was that night and heard her speak her who beside thee tranced in pleasure lay saying it is not for thy beauty's sake that i desire thee so but for thy fame sweeping aside thine enemies as leaves are blown by autumn gusts

Starting point is 02:19:47 and thy reply was ah delight art thou so sure of this wouldst thou have sought and loved me had i been ill-favoured say has my poor slave hussies ah poor indeed i heard nor cared no more shivering in my firs upon the snow not from the cold but from the icy pangs of pain that will be with me till I die. Truly, tomorrow's torments will not be crueler than these memories of mine. The heated irons, the flesh-dividing steel, are they not gifts from thee, my well-beloved? Ah, when they lead me out, beyond the walls, I shall look forth across the rosy hills, knowing that far beyond their lilac rims thou wilt awake, in all thy beauty's pride, safe and beloved, already forgetful of me,

Starting point is 02:20:59 whose lonely and smouldering life has broken at last into this passionate flame of death. Mere Khan. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Purple Dusk. by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Since the white day must dawn again so soon, and early love is diffident and shy.

Starting point is 02:21:40 Oh, charitable clouds, conceal the moon, grant the indulgence of an unstalled sky. Ah, silver surf, a break along the shore. Cease for a while, thy restless ebb and flow, the silence trembles with thy sullen roar, and the soft voice I love is very low. Wind of the desert, leave the orange flowers to spill their sweetness over sand and sea. Come, all unperfumed, to this couch of ours. Blow through his curls and bring their scent to me. Ah, time, who brought this treasure to my breast, knowing so well that cruelty of thine, I would die now, and leave thee at thy best, ere thou hast torn my lover's lips from mine.

Starting point is 02:22:46 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Homley Lee, the Sultan of Song, by Lawrence Hope. Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Alas, for the fate of Ham Lili, the slender fanatical singer, whose fingers were skilled on the jimbre, who played the tears into men's eyes, who harped on men's hearts till they quivered, and swayed on the border of madness,

Starting point is 02:23:26 vibrating and twisting in passion. hom lily the singer of sighs hom lily beloved in the soko whose song was as rest to the weary as lips of the loved to the lover hom lilyly a swager of care whose tears clustered thick on his lashes as torn from the heart of the jimbre the music caressive and tenders arose in the tremulous air. They took him, the victim of slander, and burnt out his eyes in the Casbah. They cut off the hand of Hamlii, the hand that was lord of the strings, whose slender and delicate fingers, persuaded the loot as a lover, persuadeth the heart of his mistress, to tender and passionate things. Ah, none will now pause in the market to hear in the twilight of springtime, when flowers that bloom in the country have centred the heart of the town, the songs of that sultan of singers, we called the caressor of lute strings, who lies in the gloom of the caspar, whose lute is forever laid down.

Starting point is 02:24:56 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Love is the symbol of a sacred thing by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Who scans his pedigree, nor shrinks to trace some link unlawful? Yet he had not been, had this illicit love not taken place, or that forbidden face remained unseen. They who say any love is coarse or light, even the brief caresses of an hour, the careless kisses of a summer night, condemn the root, not knowing of the flower. When graceless actions of some casual twain seem but the surge of youth, the heat of wine, his search for pleasure, or her hope of gain, may be the vassals of some vast, design. For who can tell what life may come to birth? Profit or captain of the time to be, has from light seed flung on the careless earth, breaks forth a flower, that scented mystery.

Starting point is 02:26:24 And though from an embrace no fruit may spring, or from a kiss no spark be kindled, still, love is the symbol of a sacred thing through which the unseen powers work their will. Those unknown gods who move behind a veil no mortal sense may ever hope to lift. We only know they falter not nor fail, and they have granted us one lovely gift. This gift of love,

Starting point is 02:26:59 which we condemn, despise, bending it to the baseness of our will. Yet in the lowest depths that passion lies, it surely keeps some heaven-born fragrance still. Therefore, oh, you, who find the perfect way, scorn not the lesser, lighter loves you see. Unworthy though they seem, yet who shall say fate works not through them for the days to be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Istari Sahara by Lawrence Hope, read for Libravox.org by Newgate novelist. Dim in east to the ruined city lies.

Starting point is 02:28:03 Purple against the paler purple skies. and slender palms and minarets arise into the night. The sands are soft, by desert winds caressed into a thousand ripples. Let us rest, and watch the flaming scarlet of the west fade into night. The pale pink Persian rose is like thy mouth, Thy breath is sweet as breezes from the south To weary lands repining in the drought Long days and nights

Starting point is 02:28:48 I too have waited, parched and worn with pain Come and refresh me As the gracious rain falls on tired fields And makes them green again Through summer nights Ah, how I love thee. Thou art very fair. Witness the silken softness of thy hair,

Starting point is 02:29:19 and thy calm eyes, clear as the morning air on mountain heights. Gloom falls apace, and silence spreads afar. Give me thy hands, how slim and cool they are, lives there such love on any other star that shines tonight? Oh, wait a while, as yet I only care to lie to leeward, and drink in the air that passes over thee, and through thy hair, bringing delight, withdraw thy lips from mine insatiate. Oh, give me time, beloved.

Starting point is 02:30:09 thou wilt not wait? Then, as thou wilt, how shall I strive with fate? This night of nights! Star of the desert, make me thine indeed, though thou shouldst slay me now, I should not heed. Of future days and nights I have no need. After this night, my lips live only when they cling to thine part them a little as they close on mine so i may crush the grape and drink the wine of my delight if thou hast hurt me ah how should i know if this be pain then always pain me so nay do not stir i cannot let thee go this knight of nights. Justly, I worship thee. Thou art divine, creating thus thy life anew in mine. Ishtah, give me a child of thine, this knight of knights.

Starting point is 02:31:32 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Love the Careless by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. death one knows and can meet and torture and war all the varied horrible things of life but a lover is so defenceless he cannot return an open stab from the one beloved or secret thrust he has laid down his arms and can but accept the words that burn into the depths of his soul what can i do though you shatter trust and sin in every way that man can sin against love i cannot enter the strife cannot even implore upbraid reprove for i loved and thrice cursed fool that i am i love you still all that i had of passion of power even of life was laid at your feet it did not avail me ought does it ever avail all that was ever given or done or dared if the one beloved be unwilling can only fail yet i know the value of what i have given of love

Starting point is 02:33:08 the silver and gold of the earth are no bribes for him nor will he stoop to allure kings have knelt imploring and only heard on the lip-stails Loved and longed for, reiterate, nay, and the eyes of beauty itself, perfect and pure, have wasted useless tears, grown faded and dim, and lovely careless has not cast them a thought. Still, if you wish to throw love away, throw it away. If you desire to squander my gifts, do as you will, with values you never comprehend. or even new. Once I saw the summer of love in your eyes. Therefore today my hands are no longer free. I am dumb as the silent skies. A lover is so defenseless.

Starting point is 02:34:11 I only pray that fate in the future deal gentlier, beloved, with you than you ever have dealt with me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Shouldst thou consent by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Thou knowest, Lord, that my desire is to be thine indeed. Though thou, alas, of love or me, hast neither note nor need. Ah, though thou canst not give thyself my longing to allay, yet grant me some small privilege to take my pain away.

Starting point is 02:35:14 If once thy lips were laid on mine, canst thou not spare me this? I could enchant myself in dreams with memories of thy kiss. What is a small caress, thee, given, forgotten quite, but unto me shouldst thou consent an infinite delight. The gods who send the sacred flame upon the altar-pire remain afar, serenely calm, untroubled by desire. But the glad worshipper below falls faint in ecstasy.

Starting point is 02:36:00 Thus would it be, shouldst thou consent between thyself and me? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Reminiscence of Meta Link's Life of the Bee by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. Oh, for the death of a beautiful purple bee, sailing away to the blue of a limpid sky, to have yielded up one's life in an ecstasy, and then, in the very climax of love, to die, to give oneself completely, once and forever, drink life at its utmost height as one laid it down, spend one's soul in the rush of one last endeavour, and rule supremely in laying

Starting point is 02:37:08 aside the crown. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On deck by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Truly the couch is hard to outward seeming. The vessel sways on the unquiet sea. Yet what care I, who nightly in my dreaming, lay your soft hair between the planks and me. Storms have delayed us, and the cargo shifted, lists us to leeward as the breakers' role. I had not cared, not even though we drifted out to uncharted oceans round the pole.

Starting point is 02:38:06 There was a Ronnie once, who, long neglected, nightly arrayed herself in silk and gold, waiting the footsteps, loved and long expected, waiting the lover whom she could not hold. Once on her wedding night, indeed he sought her, once and once only, then his order died. All sequent evenings of her youth, but brought her a great desire ever unsatisfied. nightly she lay her tears and jewels gleaming in the dim silver from the stars above nightly her limbs unconscious in her dreaming still took the tender attitudes of love for twenty years hope lingered unabated though beauty lost its bloom and youth its fire never there came the step-for a step-for,

Starting point is 02:39:14 which she waited, never the lover of her heart's desire. Yet who shall we what subtle consolation solaced the Ronnie in her lonely sleep, when her locked arms in love's divine elation held him whom, waking, she had failed to keep. Thus I, who watch the alien planets gleaming, over the waters of this restless sea. Drift back to sleep, and ever in my dreaming, lay your soft hair between the deck and me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 02:40:13 The Ocean Tramp by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Where have you been, oh, wandering soul. have journeyed far and wide, I drift to a home in any port, drift out upon any tide. And what have you lost, oh restless soul? I have left, it seemeth me, a bit of my youth, in all the ports that are clustered round the sea. What have you learned? The stress of the shore, the deep sea's desperate strife, some secret knowledge of men and things and the undertow of life. Found you no happiness anywhere in the countries where you roved?

Starting point is 02:41:06 Once, only once, a handful of nights with one whom I met and loved. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Mirrored Stars of Tangier by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate novelist. It was the darkest hour before the dawn. The orange-scented air was strangely sweet, and stars flashed brilliantly beneath our feet, reflected in the level sands that lay, lonely and mirror-like, around the bay. Lightly we walked on those reflected stars, gleaming among the drift and tangled spars left by the waves upon that lucent lawn whose flowers were planets. Then ourselves we flung down on the soft wet sand and all the skies where countless jeweled constellations hung, lay near and lovely to our wistful eyes.

Starting point is 02:42:32 Upon one silver star my lips were pressed, a vivid gem that shone in Cassia pier, no longer far away and unpossessed, but close beneath me, tremulously clear. And I, who love a thing remote and far, drew courage from that sand and circled star. For, as my lips caressed its silver fire, so might my arms embrace my heart's desire.

Starting point is 02:43:08 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. At Simroll Tank by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. May you be tortured living, a burned wind dead, your camels die, and virtue leave your wife. But he, who sat beneath the people, said, Why wish him more than average human life?

Starting point is 02:43:45 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Guru's Tale, The Enchanted Night, by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. When falling evening cooled the air, the guru in the twilight dim, caressed his chelers silken hair and told this tale of love to him. Once on the march to beca near, I, halting by a wayside well, beheld a woman drawing near, who cast on me a magic spell.

Starting point is 02:44:32 Not hers the beauty, day by day soliciting by tender liars, But that which strikes the heart straightway, And instant victory ensures. She murmured, stretching forth her arms, Her red, love-thirsty lips apart, At sunset, under yonder palms, Come to my garden, and my heart, ah that unending afternoon the sun seemed tethered in the sky i felt my inmost senses swoon with my desire's intensity

Starting point is 02:45:17 the silver twilight came at length i reached the garden cool and sweet and all my eager youth and strength lay at her small and jewelled feet Three nights we gathered our delight. I had almost kissed her lips away, yet still her eyes, alert and bright, resented the invading day. Alas, the fourth delirious eve ended, in terrified surprise, her lamp a light she was wont to leave, for love allured her through the eyes. This night she cried in passionate pain, Her heart seemed broken in her breast. Thy beauty is too great a strain, Let us put out the light and rest. Perchance you hold the speech too strong,

Starting point is 02:46:17 Or my recording it, conceit, Ah, surely one who has lived so long May own her words were true as sweet. then i half rising to obey beheld a strange and terrible sight take not she said thyself away for i will quench the offending light she raised her arm bedewled and small it lengthened stretched across the room put out the light on the opposite wall and then diminished in the gloom my pulses stopped my passion died the square rose-scented chamber ran to thrice our length from side to side and yet her arm had bridged the span i wrenched myself from her embrace and heeding not her desperate cry fled from that strange enchanted place was dear before the cheater fly beneath this starlight cool and clear i raced across the sands alone and realized in stricken fear no mortal mistress i had known my spirit told me as i sped some tortured soul

Starting point is 02:47:44 escaped from hell one of the lonely loveless dead had risen and wooed me by the well ah best beloved though youth be sweet he leads us to strange depths and heights now leave me later we shall meet for worship with the circling lights end of poem this recording is in the public domain among the Among the Fuchsies by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Call me not to a secret place when daylight dies away. Tempt me not with thine eager face, and words thou shouldst not say. Entice me not with a child of thine. Oh, God, if such might be! For surely a man is half divine, who adds another link to

Starting point is 02:48:54 to the line whose last link none may see. Call me not to the lotus lake that drooping fuchsies hide. What if my latent youth awake and will not be denied? Ah, tempt me not, for I am not strong. Thy mouth is a budded kiss. My days are empty, my nights are long. Oh, why is a thing so sweet, so wrong as thy temptation is. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. At the Taking of the Fort by Lawrence Hope read for Librevox.org by Newgate novelist. In Ayat Khan, I have no love for thee. When have I asked for love? Lies still and learn beneath the stars, how I would give thee all. But thou art hurting me, thy kisses burn. I shall not hurt thee if thou wilt consent. Resist me not, thou dost but fire my

Starting point is 02:50:10 brain. Hinder thou canst not. See, I loose thy hands, and in a moment capture them again. Ah, thou art cruel! I shall be crueller yet. Wherefore refuse, I am thy destiny. Millions of years ere ever we were born, it was decreed that I should come to thee. accepting me thou dost accept thy fate since it is written man was born to slay slay and be slain and women in their turn renew the wasted lives that fall away ah blame me not it was not i who made this sad chaotic world that wounds us so with life and love and death aimless alike enayet khan have pity let me go for this i slew for this i took the fort crashed through the horrors of the blood-stained fight to the cool twilight and thy chill descent never will i be slave to thy delight this knife may mar a beauty that resists and spoils my pleasure slay then and have done thus there will be no pleasure say that will be no pleasure say in death I shall escape from thee,

Starting point is 02:51:31 O pitiless one! Nay, for thy slender frame Would keep its warmth, Quite long enough for me to slake this thirst, This dear and desperate need I have of thee. Ah, the desire thou couldst have curbed at first, In thy resisting arms has grown so great, I needs must have thy beauty for my own.

Starting point is 02:51:53 Though destiny decrees that I repel, the only lovely thing my life has known. I have lived hardly all my days, God knows. Little of women's love has come my way. Strive not with me. Thou dost but make me cruel. I could be tender if thou wouldst obey. I, with a tenderness beyond all words,

Starting point is 02:52:18 could shed my very soul beneath thy feet, lay down the whole of youth for one short hour, if thou wouldst share that hour and find it sweet. I had such dreams about this night with thee. All through the fight I saw these planets shine. With each new wound my desperate spirit sobbed. Let me but live to reach this roof of thine. And I have reached it.

Starting point is 02:52:46 Cool the night wind blows. Against these lips whose fevered prayers are vain. My broken ankle, dragging on the stone, Has pained me not as thy repulses pain. Ah, my beloved one, try to understand. Pity this burnt-up mouth with one cool kiss. Thus shalt thou make my madness slave to thee. Aye, then thou wouldst escape, take this and this.

Starting point is 02:53:18 So it is dead, the little and lovely thing, pinned by my dagger to the earthen floor, like a wired flower. Ah, well, I had my way. The small clenched hands resisted me no more. The soft, curved lips spoke no repelling words. I can die now, for I am satisfied, and after death I shall demand no more, since I have had my heaven before I died. Now for my knife. Thou lifelong friend of me, reluctantly thou leafs her breast for mine. Well, tis the sweetest blood that thou hast drawn,

Starting point is 02:54:04 who hast drawn much. I did my work. Do thine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Twilight by Lawrence Hope, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Come to me with the earliest star, thou shalt not be caressed,

Starting point is 02:54:36 for passion and love shall stand afar that I may give thee rest. Tell of thy troubles before we sleep, of all thy hopes and fears, and if the telling should make thee weep, then I will drink thy tears. The shade shall solace thy soul that grieves, And I shall shield thine eyes, With glossy fans of magnolia leaves From starlight in the skies, While all the cares of the angry hosts

Starting point is 02:55:17 That stalk thy soul by day, Between the trees, like wandering ghosts, Shall softly steal away, Where shouldst thou slumber, if not with me? Thy haven is my breast. I stretch myself as a couch for thee, to lull thy limbs to rest. But, oh, I promise, lover of mine, by all the stars above, I will not offer my lips to thine, nor weirr thee with love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To Aziz by Lawrence Hope, read for Librivox.org by Newgate novelist. I, thou art fair. I know that beauty well. Have I not longed for it as those in hell long for release? Thou wouldst be kind to me, But when I craved such kindness, in the days it could have saved, thou didst not cease to torture me, Raziz.

Starting point is 02:56:45 And now that fate has brought me what so long I so desired, it is too late, I am too tired. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In the Vineyards by Lawrence Hope Read for Libravox.org by Newgate Novelist Lightly I valued my youth As a trivial bloom Shared with the rose in the hedgerows The peach on the tree

Starting point is 02:57:25 Till his lips had fallen fiercely on mine in the gloom Saying they found youth sweet Then it grew dearer to me Ah, my light-hearted youth that I knew not aright. Softly insistent he spoke through the heat of the day. This, in the vine-hidden heart of a midsummer night, was resigned in his forceful arms forever and I. End of poem.

Starting point is 02:58:01 This recording is in the public domain. In the African Desert by Lawrence Hope, Read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Ah, but his lightest kiss was more sweet to me Than any caress of thine, O silver sea. His arms have held me gently arine than thou. In thy liquid green embraces, holds me now. Soft and cool as his breast is thy foam above,

Starting point is 02:58:40 even as soft as his ways and words of love, yet was his cruelty as the jagged teeth of the hungry, lurking rocks that lie beneath. Over the reef thy ripples are breaking now, curled as the soft, dark clusters around his brow, grim as an octopus in its darkened lair, ghastly and sinister thoughts lay hidden there. Pale he was, and quiet, with reticent eyes,

Starting point is 02:59:18 sombre and flecked with gold as the midnight skies. They whispered the savage blood of desert kings ran in his veins, and stung him to cruel things. Maybe, I know not, care not, Against his breast I found a secret garden of joy and rest. Yet his desire, though fierce, was a fleeting breath, And mine, alas, is a flame that burns till death. Here in my tent is a couch prepared for thee.

Starting point is 02:59:58 Rest thou a while and slumber, awaiting me. Kindly he spoke, when the weary march was done, and the camp smoke rose across the setting sun. Down I lay in the shadow. I did not see that cactus thorns were the couch prepared for me. Ah, the pain of that feverish, endless night, and the fainting sleep that came with morning light. Waking, I found myself on the soft, warm sands,

Starting point is 03:00:33 while he withdrew the thorns with remorseful hands. saying, Forgive me again, and thou shalt rest tonight as thou desirest against my breast. Strange and sweet were the ways where his fancy trod, a panther's fierceness linked to dreams of a god, passion, wild as the desert in strength and power, lips as soft and fresh as the touch of a flower. These were his gifts of atonement through the night, These with persuasive words that enhanced delight, And strange sad songs and legends Which left his eyes aglow with the fire of sombre memories.

Starting point is 03:01:27 One still night on the breast of a starry sea, Rowe till I bid thee cease, he ordered. me. The skin wore through and the paddolens were red, before, when the sunrise came, the word was said. Yet as the starlight fell on his long, lithe grace, the vivid and tender beauty of his face, I could have prayed that the night should never cease, and cursed the rosy morning that brought release. Over the rocks he would swing me to and fro, where the white surf foamed a thousand feet below, would smile and murmur, I will not loose thee quite, this graceless body of mine needs thine to-night. Locked in his hut through the ardent heats of June, he would not

Starting point is 03:02:27 to lay my thirst by night or noon, saying, If water and wine be held from thee, More eagerly wilt thou drink my lips and me. He pinned my lower lip to the lip above, lest thou in my absence are to words of love. With pointed shells he pricked on my breast his name, That thou mayst keep the stamp of thy love and shame. what cared i in the joy of passion's blindness little i wrecked of kindness or unkindness only now when he leaves me in lonely peace my torment begins because his tortures cease

Starting point is 03:03:16 never will any freshness of thine o sea allay this endless fever alight in me he could assuage with his cruel tender hands, but alas, he neither heeds nor understands. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The City, Song of Muhammad Akram, by Lawrence Hope, read for the bravox.org by Newgate novelist. Sinning and sinned against the city lay, burnt by the sun's caresses day by day, passive, defenseless, with her latest breath, conceiving at his pleasure, plague, and death. Relentlessly he poured his ardent rays into her cloistered courts and secret ways, while the hot gold he spilled upon the plain, rose from the furnace of the sands again. Beneath a sullen sunset, dimly red, rent by the lamentations for the dead, whose burning gots defiled the stagnant air, the breathless city waited in despair.

Starting point is 03:04:46 Then came the flutter of a sudden breeze, fragrant with sense of aromatic trees, cool with the magic freshness of the sea, and the dry maize leaves shivered restlessly. The wind went onwards to the outer gate, thrilled with soft pity for the city's fate, dispensing coolness, past the inner wall, and fanned the lips of those about to fall, swept in his freshness through the stifling lane, flew through low casements, fluttered forth again, winnowed the marketplace, his floor was red, and lightly smoothed to the seal-cloths of the dead. Stole through the women's chambers, close and sweet, lifted their clinging silks from face to feet,

Starting point is 03:05:42 cooled the pale brows that glimmered in the dusk, Then gained the open, faintly tinged with musk. Entered the prison, soothed the ring-worn wrist, the deeper wounds of fettered ankles kissed, giving the only freedom that was craved, freedom from heat. Thus was the city saved. His coolness left her fresh as any flower, and to restrict the sun's relentless power, he veiled her with soft clouds and bid them stay, till all the heat wrought ill should pass away. I would have asked such aid of thee, had I but dared. Thou couldst have done as much for me,

Starting point is 03:06:33 hadst thou but cared. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Jungle Fear by Lawrence Hope, read for Librovox.org by Newgate Novelist. When sunset lights are burning low, while tents are pitched and campfires glow, steals o'er us, there the stars appear, the furtive sense of jungle fear. for when the dusk is falling fast still as throughout the ages past the stealthy beasts of prey arise and prowl around with hungry eyes though safe beside the fire i sit and stretch contented hands to it though all the cheerful camping-ground with men-in-arms is close around i feel the jungle very near, and shiver with instinctive fear. For in some hidden cells of me stirs the ancestral memory of times when from the beasts of prey, at this same hour men slunk away

Starting point is 03:08:02 to seek their caves and thrilled to hear the red-eyed panthers lurking near, or the weird melancholy howls, have famished packs of wolves a prowl. Long centuries have since passed by, but still these instincts will not die. And even men in cities pent, who never slept beneath a tent,

Starting point is 03:08:30 have said that their yet twilight feel the same strange fear across them steal. Hidden our being, doom and deep, The terrors of past perils sleep, The heritage obscure and vast From man's unfathomable past. Each twilight, when the sun burns down, In desert waste or crowded town,

Starting point is 03:09:00 When shadows fall and night draws near, The dusk brings back the jungle fear. End of poem. This recording is in the poem. public domain. Disloyal by Lawrence Hope, read for Libre of Oxtottle, Benugate novelist. You were more than a lover to me, was something sacred and half divine, akin to sunset over the sea, to leaves that tremble and stars that shine. There was not much to attract in me, no gift or beauty. You did not care enough to give me fidelity.

Starting point is 03:09:52 who cared so deeply and could not share. Alas, my temple, I find the shrine I entered barefoot with bended head to pay that tender homage of mine, an open courtyard where all may tread. And all men knew it, I hear, but I, who, being a trusting fool, it seems, went to the market of a love to buy, with coins of worship and faith and dreams. Still it is over. Now to forget, I know not whether to choose anew, in hopes of finding loyalty yet, or, fond but faithless, drift on with you, loving you lightly among the rest.

Starting point is 03:10:48 Many a little, not greatly. one. You may be right, I may find it best to do, henceforward, as you have done. But ah, for my sweet, lost nights with you, when had death been in the dawning grey, price of your beauty and love, I knew I would have paid and been glad to pay. End of poem. This recording. is in the public domain. How shall I tell thee of love, O Queen, for mine was knotted with hate. With a dancing girl he had faithless been, and rendered me desolate. He lay in the tamarind shade at rest, where Honumon's temple is,

Starting point is 03:12:19 and a little knife crept out of my breast to bury itself in his. Tinshaja, the scent sprinkler. If fate should say, thy course is run, it would not make me sad. All that I wished to do is done. All that I would have had. My lord has left his life with me, and mine divinely glad. They tell me I may be deceived. I neither care nor know.

Starting point is 03:12:59 A lesser love might well be grieved, With me it is not so. My lord has lain within these arms, and all the rest may go. One of the Deva Darcy, girls dedicated to a temple. Shriffled and aged, with never a rest, I wearily wander from shrine to shrine, but Vishnu has branded across my breast, the gods themselves were once lovers of mine. Lala, the doorkeeper. I went to him as a willing bride. He did not use me ill. A little, perhaps, he broke my pride against his reckless will.

Starting point is 03:13:52 But any sorrowful time of tears through which he made me go, I minded not, for an after years, I loved his children so. Yasmini, the dancing girl. I am clothed with the gold and the kisses of men, and nightly, new love songs impassioned the air. For a while I shall dance in the torchlight, and then comes darkness and desert depths of despair. oh daughters of virtue to you it is given to lull with caresses new life at the breast by us in our beauty unshamed though unshriven the youth of the nation is firstly possessed gulabi a slave the thing we love has endless charms to while away are discontent men seldom feel the weight of arms or women that of ornament her hair is softer far than mine her gold-starred teeth more almond-white her eyes so often mirror thine small wonder they are always bright

Starting point is 03:15:15 her happiness unmoved i see though i am not and she is wed because the child thou gavest me his living still and hers is dead the ronnie how like we are how all the same we think one thought we play one game beneath one sceptre bend to careless slaves or curtained queens love is our most delightful means to a delightful end end of poem this recording is in the public domain the tower of victory by lawrence hope read for librivox dot org by newgate novelist the starlit night was cool and dim soft clouds beflict the tranquil sky she climbed the hill and reached with him the carlid night was cool and dim the carlid clouds beflected the tranquil sky she climbed the hill and reached with him the car The Ravin Tower of Victory, the tower that rears its lonely head above the jungle, wild and vast, and dreams, perchance, of warriors dead, who held the hills in ages past. Sweet fragrance drifted o'er the land from champer trees and jasmine flowers. The lovers wandered, hand in hand, through long and all uncounted hours.

Starting point is 03:17:02 And when the night was midway spent, they climbed the dark and broken stare, hoarse stifled from the acrid scent of countless bats that harboured there. The topmost steps had fallen away, a time one ladder took their place, until she felt the night wind play in coolness on her upturned face. At last, they reached the highest stage, wind-swept and open to the stars. The battlements were worn with age, but waving grasses hid the scars. The lonely jungle lay serene, beneath the star bejeweled, skies. They turned them from the silver scene to seek once more each other's eyes. But when he caught

Starting point is 03:18:03 her to his breast, she shrank in delicate dismay. So, chilled, he left her uncarrest and drew his eager arms away. Her eyes beneath their lashes hid the tender tears that left them dim, as down the ladder rungs he slid, and drew it swiftly after him. It must, he cried, be naught or all, and I shall come no more to thee, till from the tower I hear thee call, to say thou wilt be kind to me. Stay now, she begged. He would not heed, but down the ruined, twisting stare, He crashed his way with reckless speed, And reached the scented outer air.

Starting point is 03:18:59 But when he scarcered left the tower, He paused and felt his anger cease. Such was the magic of the hour, It's a lovely mystery and peace. Two eyes among the thickets glow, A stealthy rustle stirs the air. The tigress springs and lays him low, Then bears him, senseless, to her lair.

Starting point is 03:19:29 There was no sound, he gave no cry. The careless stars looked on serene. The jungle's sudden tragedy remained, unheard, unknown, unseen. While on the tower, she cried in tears, Return to me, beloved of mine. Forgive me for my foolish fears within those tender arms of thine. O brightest star of all the night, come back, and shed thy light on me, and thou shalt learn to thy delight, how more than kind I am to thee. In vain she cried, in vain she wept,

Starting point is 03:20:15 At times in solitary woe, Towards the inner edge she crept, And looked, but dared not leap below. Before she died, three weary days she called in anguish on his name. By twilight cool or noonday blaze, Her luckless lover never came And since men rarely mount the stones That form the tower's ruined stare

Starting point is 03:20:51 It may be that her small white bones Still wait in lonely silence there Ah, when a love comes His wings are swift, His ways are full of quick surprise, Tis well for those who have the gift to seize him even as he flies. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. And end of Stars of the Desert by Lawrence Hope.

Starting point is 03:21:32 Thank you for listening.

Classic Audiobook Collection - Stars of the Desert by Laurence Hope ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

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