I thought you were a woman like
all other women, and yet you are beautiful and fair and pure, like a
houri of paradise. I wished to tear you from my heart as we tear
weeds from a flower-garden, and my heart was to be henceforth
accessible only to ambition and glory; and now I know that all this
is vain and empty. Mohammed no longer has aspirations after glory
and renown; Mohammed no longer knows that wreaths of fame are twined
and that laurels bloom without in the world; Mohammed only knows
that this is paradise, and that heaven's fairest flower blooms here
at his side. I feel your breath, my flower, I inhale fragrance from
your lips, and see the starlight in your eyes, though none shines in
upon us from the dark world without. I am with you, and you with me.
Oh, let me rest at your side, and forget the world, and may it
forget us too!"
"I do not understand your words," murmured she. "You are wise and
learned, and I am only a poor girl, who has no words to express her
thoughts, and hardly thoughts for that which she feels. I do know,
however, that I am in paradise, and Allah forbid that my feet should
bear me out into the world again! Oh, I never wish to see it again,
Mohammed. And beautiful it would be, it seems to me, to slumber here
in sweet tranquillity, never to awake again."
"Oh, it were heavenly, my sweet dove," murmured he, pressing her to
his heart, "to fall into a sweet slumber here, and to journey hence,
heavenward, to awaken in paradise.
Pages:
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309