Not Fatmeh herself, the daughter of the Prophet of God,
shone more sweetly. She repeated the word, "Beloved"; and after a
pause she whispered on with lips that scarcely stirred, "King of
the Age, this is the end."
But still he was like a dead man, nor lifted his face.
"Surely all things pass. And though I go, in your heart I abide,
and nothing can sever us. Take comfort."
But there was no answer.
"Nothing but Love's own hand can slay Love. Therefore, remember
me, and I shall live."
And he answered from the darkness of her bosom, "The whole world
shall remember. But when shall I be united to thee? 0 Allah, how
long wilt thou leave me to waste in this separation?"
And she: "Beloved, what is time? We sleep and the night is gone.
Now put your arms about me, for I sink into rest. What words are
needed between us? Love is enough."
So, making not the Profession of Faith, - and what need, since
all her life was worship, - the Lady Arjemand turned into his
arms like a child. And the night deepened.
Morning, with its arrows of golden light that struck the river to
splendour! Morning, with its pure breath, its sunshine of joy,
and the koels fluting in the Palace gardens! Morning, divine and
new from the hand of the Maker! And in the innermost chamber of
marble a white silence; and the Lady, the Mirror of Goodness,
lying in the Compassion of Allah, and a broken man stretched on
the ground beside her.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294