A Pledge

The Airs of the Grove

I made a promise, and my forbearance grew too strait for my promise —
and a free man's promise is not to be profaned.
The pledge spread through my heart as a hope
over which the horizons of morning wove,
and I lived among hopes in their abundance,
sharing with me the frayed end of my sash.

Yours is the desert, O lifetime now spent,
and to hopes belong the blossoms of the daisies.
How much longing you have left in my soul
for the airs of the grove and the birds' song!
You withered the freshness out of my youth
upon the rising moans of lamentation,
and I surrendered the free wing, in despair,
to the raging of tempests and winds.

So I am no criminal, that I should remain a while
a captive and then be granted my release;
nor am I made happy, if my captivity grows long
with my hopes, when I have not curbed my own wild course.

Beirut — Munir Hanna