How merry all these are
Among the fruit. But yon, lame Cola crouches
Away from all the others. Now the sun—
A-shining on the little crucifix
Of silver hanging round lame Cola's neck—
Sinks down at last with yonder minaret
Of the Alhambra black athwart his disk;
And Cola seeing, knows the sign and comes.
Thus do I burn these precious herbs whose smoke
Pours up and floats in fragrance o'er my head
In coil on coil of azure.
[Enter Cola.] All is ready.
Cola. Mosada, it is then so much the worse.
I will not share your sin.
Mosada.It is no sin
That you shall see on yonder glowing cloud
Pictured, where wander the beloved feet
Whose footfall I have longed for, three sad summers—
Why these new fears?
Cola.The servant of the Lord,
The dark still man, has come, and says 'tis sin.
Mosada. They say the wish itself is half the sin.
Then has this one been sinned full many times,
Yet 'tis no sin—my father taught it me.
He was a man most learned and most mild,
Who, dreaming to a wondrous age, lived on
Tending the roses round his lattice door.
For years his days had dawned and faded thus
Among the plants; the flowery silence fell
Deep in his soul, like rain upon a soil
Worn by the solstice fierce, and made it pure.
Would he teach any sin?
Cola.Gaze in the cloud
Yourself.
Mosada. None but the innocent can see.
Cola. They say I am all ugliness; lame-footed
I am; one shoulder turned awry—why then
Should I be good? But you are beautiful.
Mosada. I cannot see.