V AÎSHA'S TEARS
(OUTSIDE THE CITY WALLS)
Aîsha
sobs as one in pain,
With dates and palm-branch in her hand,
Goes thro' the city-gates alone
To weep for him, her husband, gone
Into the far-off silent land
Not ever to return again.
How changed from when on funeral-day,
Thro' dark bazaar and alley dim,
The young boy-reader went before,
And cried to Allah bending o'er
His prophet, to bend over him,
And scattered scent along the way.
For then, on turbaned heads borne high,
The coffin in procession went
Almost in triumph, and the blind
Led the death-blinded, and behind
Was ululation and lament,
And prayers from many a passer-by.
Then in the grave they laid him, head
Towards Mecca, and the master came
And taught the dumb man what to say
When heralds of the Judgment Day—
The dreadful angels none may name—
Came inquisitioning the dead—
Why doth Aîsha shed the tear?
The days of weeping sure should end—
This is the fortieth day since then;
She lost no lover among men
When Ali died, she gained a friend—
Freedom from one whose word was fear.
Her funeral feasts have all been made,
Her chamber walls are dark of hue,
Her mats were turned the other side,
The day her lord and master died,
Her hands are still deep-stained with blue,
Her hair is still without its braid;
And when they bore, as she doth know,
His body to the mosque, and cried
Above it prayers from the Korân,
All present vowed he was a man,
Pious and good and justified;
Then wherefore should her tears still flow?
Poor girl! She feels there is a God
Who looks upon the heart, and well
She knows that, when those angels dread
Come close to catechise the dead,
They'll beat his body down to hell
Seven times, with flail of iron rod.
And though within the grave's dark room
The five replies were duly given,—
‘God, one God,’ ‘True, Muhammad's word,’
‘The Kȧȧba, Kibleh,’ ‘Allah, Lord,’
‘Islam the Faith,’—with heads of seven
The snakes will sting him until Doom.
