XXXI

    I know her bosom full of love for me,
  And therefore fancy how her soul doth grieve
    In this our first divorce; it cannot be
  Self-flattery that idle boastings weave—­
  Soon shalt thou see it all, and seeing, shalt believe.

  XXXII

  Quivering of the eyelids

    Her hanging hair prevents the twinkling shine
  Of fawn-eyes that forget their glances sly,
    Lost to the friendly aid of rouge and wine—­
  Yet the eyelids quiver when thou drawest nigh
  As water-lilies do when fish go scurrying by.

  XXXIII

  and trembling of the limbs are omens of
  speedy union with the beloved.

    And limbs that thrill to thee thy welcome prove,
  Limbs fair as stems in some rich plantain-bower,
    No longer showing marks of my rough love,
  Robbed of their cooling pearls by fatal power,
  The limbs which I was wont to soothe in passion’s hour.

  XXXIV

    But if she should be lost in happy sleep,
  Wait, bear with her, grant her but three hours’ grace,
    And thunder not, O cloud, but let her keep
  The dreaming vision of her lover’s face—­
  Loose not too soon the imagined knot of that embrace.

  XXXV

    As thou wouldst wake the jasmine’s budding wonder,
  Wake her with breezes blowing mistily;
    Conceal thy lightnings, and with words of thunder
  Speak boldly, though she answer haughtily
  With eyes that fasten on the lattice and on thee.

  XXXVI

  The cloud is instructed how to announce himself

    “Thou art no widow; for thy husband’s friend
  Is come to tell thee what himself did say—­
    A cloud with low, sweet thunder-tones that send
  All weary wanderers hastening on their way,
  Eager to loose the braids of wives that lonely stay.”

  XXXVII

  in such a way as to win the favour of his auditor.

    Say this, and she will welcome thee indeed,
  Sweet friend, with a yearning heart’s tumultuous beating
    And joy-uplifted eyes; and she will heed
  The after message:  such a friendly greeting
  Is hardly less to woman’s heart than lovers’ meeting.

  XXXVIII

  The message itself.

    Thus too, my king, I pray of thee to speak,
  Remembering kindness is its own reward;
    “Thy lover lives, and from the holy peak
  Asks if these absent days good health afford—­
  Those born to pain must ever use this opening word.

  XXXIX

    With body worn as thine, with pain as deep,
  With tears and ceaseless longings answering thine,
    With sighs more burning than the sighs that keep
  Thy lips ascorch—­doomed far from thee to pine,
  He too doth weave the fancies that thy soul entwine.

  XL