NUBTA:
The flowers are nodding, all the birds abed,--
Nothing awake except the watchful stars!
KHAMMA:
The stars are sentinels discreet and mute:
How many things they know and never tell!
TSARPI: [Impatiently.]
Unlike the stars, how many things you tell
And do not know! When comes your master home?
NUBTA:
Lady, his armour-bearer brought us word,--
At moonset, not before.
TSARPI:
He haunts the camp
And leaves me much alone; yet I can pass
The time of absence not unhappily,
If I but know the time of his return.
An hour of moonlight yet! Khamma, my mirror!
These curls are ill arranged, this veil too low,--
So,--that is better, careless maids! Withdraw,--
But bring me word if Naaman appears!
KHAMMA:
Mistress, have no concern; for when we hear
The clatter of his horse along the street,
We'll run this way and lead your dancers down
With song and laughter,--you shall know in time.
[Exeunt KHAMMA and NUBTA laughing, TSARPI descends
the steps.]
TSARPI:
My guest is late; but he will surely come!
The man who burns to drain the cup of love,
The priest whose greed of glory never fails,
Both, both have need of me, and he will come.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277