The arbor tree

Inspired by "The Arbor Tree" by Nan Cremona, published in the third issue of The Woman's Voice

Calm your fright, my girl. I am no sly deceiver, that you should dread me and shun me...

— I do not fear you, my beloved; I only dread this blind infatuation — for who knows what the days may bring?!

— The days? They will do nothing; they will stand astonished and bewildered when they learn of our eternal love.

— Eternal?! Is there anything in life that is eternal! Our love will pass away one day, as everything in existence has passed away and will pass away.

— These are the misgivings of love, my dear girl. Everything may be effaced except our love — even after we perish, do you hear? Have you not learned the tale of Jamil and Buthayna! Has the story of Qays and Layla not reached you? And Kuthayyir and Azza? And Qays and Lubna? And Romeo and Juliet? And Cleopatra and Antony? And others, and others still!!

— Yes, I have heard, and I have understood. But as for those — their loved ones died before the freshness of their youth had faded, and so they remained, in their burning imagination, picturing them as models of youth, beauty, and vitality. Had old age knelt with all its weight upon one of the two lovers, you would have seen what would astound and appall you...

— Do you mean by that that you will forsake me when youth hands me over to decrepitude?

— Rather, I fear that it is you who will forsake me, after having glorified even the grains of sand that my fresh young feet tread upon... As for me, the woman, I find in you the strength that I draw from you, the glory that I braid upon your brow, and the tenderness that I lay up in store to light my last days.

— Enough, my pessimistic girl; I see in your enchanting eyes a strange light, and I long greatly to close them over it with my burning kisses.

— You shall not do it, beloved. Your lips shall not reach my eyes, for I crane forever toward the heights. I shall give you much of myself; I shall bestow upon you all my youth, to care for you, to shield you, and to defend you. But this body of mine, which you strain toward you with all your strength — you shall gain nothing of it. For if you did, you would grow weary of it, O beloved, dearer than my life, and lose all desire for it.

— What is this you are saying?! I do not understand you, enchantress. I, grow weary of your charms and renounce them? Far be it from even a fool to do such a thing... how then from me?! I, who love you always, and am your slave forever!!!

— Oh... in vain do I try to make you understand, my heart's desire... Have you looked at the fresh flower swaying upon its branch, proud, beautiful, bewitching? Have you seen how an idle hand toys with it once it is plucked, and how, after an hour's time, it becomes withered, its head bowed... I am that flower, my beloved. I want to be splendid in your eyes, keeping my fragrant scent the whole of my life, so that even when the days wither me slowly, I remain in your eyes young, tender, and sweet-smelling — because your hand never reached me, and never toyed with me. For this, my beautiful idol, I shall remain forever craning toward the heights, lavishing my soul upon you without price, bestowing upon you my heart and my youth; but this body of mine, which you strain toward you — you shall gain nothing of it, however you strive. And that, so that you may love me forever, and keep the splendor of this love for all eternity.