A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)


Song of Khan Zada

Only in August my heart was aflame,

Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair,

Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep

Through the night, I should hardly care.

Only last August I drank that water

Because it had chanced to cool your hands;

When love is over, how little of love

Even the lover understands!

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