The Flight

Softly into the saddle     Of my black horse with white feet;     Your brothers are frowning     And grasping swords in sleep.     My rifle is as clean as moonlight,     My flints are new;     My long grey sword is sighing     In his blue sheath.     Fatima gave me my grey sword     Of Temrouk steel,     Damascened in red gold     To cut a pathway for the feet of love.     My eye is dark and keen,     My hand has never trembled on the sword.     If your brothers rise and follow     On their stormy horses,     If they stretch their hot hands     To catch you from my breast,     My rifle shall not sing to them,     My steel shall spare.     My rifle's song is for my yellow girl,     My eye is dark and keen,     I'll send my bullet to the fairest heart     That ever lady loved with in the world.     My hand upon the sword     Shall be so strong,     He'll find the little laughing place     Where you dance in my breast;     And we'll have no more of the silly world     Where our lips must lie apart.     We'll let death pour our souls     Into one cup,     And mount like joyous birds to God     With hearts on fire,     And God will mingle us into one shape     In an eternal garden of gold stars.     Love Ballad of the Caucasus.