Roses smell sweet, but they are silent when the sun kisses them. I sing of a rose who sang, yet rose-like was silent of kisses. Heart of my heart? why should I sing of a kiss which never came, of the kiss owed to the rose, not by the dead but the living!
For what is a dead man's kiss to lips that are like the rose? He was so fair and young, he came from far over the seas. Was it jewels or gold he was seeking? No matter! 'twas love that he found.
His hair was golder than gold, his eyes, full of laughter, were blue--blue as the sapphires he sought whilst love was seeking for him. Yea, the black sought for love in the blue. Oh, cold were his eyes! cold as the snows in the north when the rose began singing
Hai, golden sun! Hai, cold blue skies!
Grant me but this, a look, a kiss.
Hai! Hai! Hai!
Right to the inner court of marbles and jewels, 'mid peacocks' fans waving and tinkling sutaras, he came when the stars came and talked to my mistress--talked of love and of jewels, the one for the sake of the other. For the Rani grew old, and such women are easily flattered. But Singing-Rose smiled as she sang. Though naught but a singing slave, men sought her for love and for kisses, who sought not her mistress. And one, a snake of a man, sought both without shame; he was high in the Court and a noble, the Rani's known lover.
Hai, the snake! Hai, venomous thing,
Dead of your own poisoning!
Hai! Hai!
But what is a snake to a rose when the gold sun may kiss her? So she sang sweeter and sweeter till blue eyes grew kinder. "What is your price for a song, Singing-Rose?" he asked softly. "Gold from a snake, but a kiss from the sun," I sang bravely; giving no heed to her frown, for speech was not mine, save by singing; night after night singing on, whilst they whispered of love and of jewels. "I owe her a gift of a surety," he said the last night to my mistress. "Give her gold," she replied with a sneer. "What more would you give to a slave?"
Hai! Gold, nothing but gold!
The heart of the Rose turned cold.