Strange Tale: Of The Midnight Feast Poem by AFFAQ NABI

Strange tale, O Muse, where first its pulses start,
Where it breaks, what wandering lips could tell?
These lamps, like star-blooms trembling in the heart,
Adorn the night with some enchanted spell.
What festival of souls aspires on above high,
With incense clouds that curl to heaven's dome?
A candle weeps, its breath becomes a sigh,
And leaves a ghost of sweetness in the gloom.
Still yet I dream, where roses faintly close,
And the nightingale recalls her ardent tune;
Though you are near, afar your presence grows,
Bewitching as a pale, reluctant moon.
But when dark hours to blossomed dawn remove,
Awake my name, and light the lamp of love.