And They Reproach Me

People reproach me for loving him,
and I reproach myself, and beg forgiveness;
yet the moment he appears, I forget
what I vowed, and confess what I hid.
Unawares, my heart lost itself in him,
and I question myself and light
on no reason. To understand passion
is hard for those it afflicts.
My beloved! What do the mischief-makers want
with all they have embroidered and forged?
The lies dissolve in one glance at me
when he comes asking questions,
and my heart flutters, and my tongue
betrays me when I try to excuse myself.
I look at him: no fault of his shows
to my eye, nor does his evil appear;
and there is no beauty, no gladness,
unless his dark face be there.
He lords it, and I bow to him in love;
my soul shrinks small, and he grows proud.
In my two hands his love is a rose
that love tickles — or unfolds.

(From the diwan "The Vial of Perfume," now in press)