You flood my music with your autumn silenceAnd burn me in the flame-burst of your spring.Lo! through my beggar-being’s tattered garmentsResplendent shines your crystal heart, my King!Like a rich song you chant your red-fire sunrise,Deep in my dreams, and forge your white-flame moon ...You hide the crimson secret of your sunset,And the pure golden message of your moon.You fashion cool-grey clouds within my body,And weave your rain into a diamond mesh.The Universal Beauty dances, dancesA glimmering peacock in my flowering flesh!Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
You flood my music with your autumn silenceAnd burn me in the flame-burst of your spring.Lo! through my beggar-being’s tattered garmentsResplendent shines your crystal heart, my King!Like a rich song you chant your red-fire sunrise,Deep in my dreams, and forge your white-flame moon ...You hide the crimson secret of your sunset,And the pure golden message of your moon.You fashion cool-grey clouds within my body,And weave your rain into a diamond mesh.The Universal Beauty dances, dancesA glimmering peacock in my flowering flesh!Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
You flood my music with your autumn silenceAnd burn me in the flame-burst of your spring.Lo! through my beggar-being’s tattered garmentsResplendent shines your crystal heart, my King!
Like a rich song you chant your red-fire sunrise,Deep in my dreams, and forge your white-flame moon ...You hide the crimson secret of your sunset,And the pure golden message of your moon.
You fashion cool-grey clouds within my body,And weave your rain into a diamond mesh.The Universal Beauty dances, dancesA glimmering peacock in my flowering flesh!
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Our dreams and longings cover deeper dreamsAnd longings in the silence far away.All things on earth, sweet winds and shining clouds,Waters and stars and the lone moods of men,Are cool green echoes of the voice that singsBeyond the verge of Time. Between two cries of aught,Of aught on earth, wakes the eternal fireWherein the destiny of heaven is wrought,For what is heaven but the earth grown full,And God but man unshadowed and afar?Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Our dreams and longings cover deeper dreamsAnd longings in the silence far away.All things on earth, sweet winds and shining clouds,Waters and stars and the lone moods of men,Are cool green echoes of the voice that singsBeyond the verge of Time. Between two cries of aught,Of aught on earth, wakes the eternal fireWherein the destiny of heaven is wrought,For what is heaven but the earth grown full,And God but man unshadowed and afar?Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Our dreams and longings cover deeper dreamsAnd longings in the silence far away.All things on earth, sweet winds and shining clouds,Waters and stars and the lone moods of men,Are cool green echoes of the voice that singsBeyond the verge of Time. Between two cries of aught,Of aught on earth, wakes the eternal fireWherein the destiny of heaven is wrought,For what is heaven but the earth grown full,And God but man unshadowed and afar?
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Each moment when we feel aloneIn this great world of rush and riotIs as a jewelled stepping-stoneWhich leads into the House of Quiet.Within it dwell the ancient seersBeyond unreal griefs and cares,Beyond unreal smiles and tears,Beyond the need of chant and prayers.Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Each moment when we feel aloneIn this great world of rush and riotIs as a jewelled stepping-stoneWhich leads into the House of Quiet.Within it dwell the ancient seersBeyond unreal griefs and cares,Beyond unreal smiles and tears,Beyond the need of chant and prayers.Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Each moment when we feel aloneIn this great world of rush and riotIs as a jewelled stepping-stoneWhich leads into the House of Quiet.
Within it dwell the ancient seersBeyond unreal griefs and cares,Beyond unreal smiles and tears,Beyond the need of chant and prayers.
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
A Beauty that ever eludes these fleshly eyesAnd fingers and lips ...Ere I can catch one gleam of the starry skiesThe mystery slips,Leaving an empty, desolate, mocking moanIn the little heart that greedily sought to holdVast beauty within its shadowy grasp and ownElusive, starry gold!Who are you, feeble, shadow-robed elf,Striving again and again in vain to captureWealth of the deep, the shining, ineffable raptureWhich is the Self beyond self?Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
A Beauty that ever eludes these fleshly eyesAnd fingers and lips ...Ere I can catch one gleam of the starry skiesThe mystery slips,Leaving an empty, desolate, mocking moanIn the little heart that greedily sought to holdVast beauty within its shadowy grasp and ownElusive, starry gold!Who are you, feeble, shadow-robed elf,Striving again and again in vain to captureWealth of the deep, the shining, ineffable raptureWhich is the Self beyond self?Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
A Beauty that ever eludes these fleshly eyesAnd fingers and lips ...Ere I can catch one gleam of the starry skiesThe mystery slips,
Leaving an empty, desolate, mocking moanIn the little heart that greedily sought to holdVast beauty within its shadowy grasp and ownElusive, starry gold!
Who are you, feeble, shadow-robed elf,Striving again and again in vain to captureWealth of the deep, the shining, ineffable raptureWhich is the Self beyond self?
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Kindle your glimmering lamp in the infinite space, O Love!Let the dark shadows dance in the burning depths of mine eyes.I am athirst for one glimpse of your beautiful face, O Love!Veiled in the mystical silence of stars and the purple of skies.Thrill me with radiant rapture, O Love! of your ravishing flute,Folding my silence in song, and my sorrow in silver eclipse,Shaping my heart into flower, and the flower of my heart into fruitMeet for your orchards of light, and touch of your luminous lips.Cast in the shadowy deeps of my being, your love, like a spark,Fan it to magical flame, till my dead heart burst into fire,Swing like a censer, my dream of devotion, O Love! through the dark,Turn into tumults of incense my richly-pulsating desire!Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Kindle your glimmering lamp in the infinite space, O Love!Let the dark shadows dance in the burning depths of mine eyes.I am athirst for one glimpse of your beautiful face, O Love!Veiled in the mystical silence of stars and the purple of skies.Thrill me with radiant rapture, O Love! of your ravishing flute,Folding my silence in song, and my sorrow in silver eclipse,Shaping my heart into flower, and the flower of my heart into fruitMeet for your orchards of light, and touch of your luminous lips.Cast in the shadowy deeps of my being, your love, like a spark,Fan it to magical flame, till my dead heart burst into fire,Swing like a censer, my dream of devotion, O Love! through the dark,Turn into tumults of incense my richly-pulsating desire!Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Kindle your glimmering lamp in the infinite space, O Love!Let the dark shadows dance in the burning depths of mine eyes.I am athirst for one glimpse of your beautiful face, O Love!Veiled in the mystical silence of stars and the purple of skies.
Thrill me with radiant rapture, O Love! of your ravishing flute,Folding my silence in song, and my sorrow in silver eclipse,Shaping my heart into flower, and the flower of my heart into fruitMeet for your orchards of light, and touch of your luminous lips.
Cast in the shadowy deeps of my being, your love, like a spark,Fan it to magical flame, till my dead heart burst into fire,Swing like a censer, my dream of devotion, O Love! through the dark,Turn into tumults of incense my richly-pulsating desire!
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
The selfsame radiant ecstasyWhich wrought the tempest’s giant wrathHas painted gorgeous dream-designsSo delicately on the moth.The selfsame luminous agonyWhich shaped the lightning’s fiery clawHas carved in utmost tendernessA summer flower without a flaw.The selfsame motherhood which madeThe awful mystery of deathHas built the body of a childAnd lit its limbs with golden breath.The selfsame miracle which movesIn silent mystery apartHas struck the secret melodyWhich dances shyly in my heart.Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
The selfsame radiant ecstasyWhich wrought the tempest’s giant wrathHas painted gorgeous dream-designsSo delicately on the moth.The selfsame luminous agonyWhich shaped the lightning’s fiery clawHas carved in utmost tendernessA summer flower without a flaw.The selfsame motherhood which madeThe awful mystery of deathHas built the body of a childAnd lit its limbs with golden breath.The selfsame miracle which movesIn silent mystery apartHas struck the secret melodyWhich dances shyly in my heart.Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
The selfsame radiant ecstasyWhich wrought the tempest’s giant wrathHas painted gorgeous dream-designsSo delicately on the moth.The selfsame luminous agonyWhich shaped the lightning’s fiery clawHas carved in utmost tendernessA summer flower without a flaw.
The selfsame motherhood which madeThe awful mystery of deathHas built the body of a childAnd lit its limbs with golden breath.The selfsame miracle which movesIn silent mystery apartHas struck the secret melodyWhich dances shyly in my heart.
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
He has fashioned the stars and the moons to the musicOf innermost-flowering joy and desire,He has tried his own love for himself through the agesBy flooding his limbs with unquenchable fireOf creation that dances and bubbles and fluttersIn peacocks, in seas, and the hearts of the birds.Behind the rich silence of red-running sunsetsAnd cool-coloured sundawns he utters his words.He is finding for ever his infinite fullnessIn blossoming buds and the withering flowers.He shapes through the heart of the world his IdealSo white in the midst of the many-hued hours.He weaves a fine trammel of marvellous coloursAround and about him in utter delight,Till straight through the darkness his laughter comes lambent,Birdlike from a cage in a freedom of flight.Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
He has fashioned the stars and the moons to the musicOf innermost-flowering joy and desire,He has tried his own love for himself through the agesBy flooding his limbs with unquenchable fireOf creation that dances and bubbles and fluttersIn peacocks, in seas, and the hearts of the birds.Behind the rich silence of red-running sunsetsAnd cool-coloured sundawns he utters his words.He is finding for ever his infinite fullnessIn blossoming buds and the withering flowers.He shapes through the heart of the world his IdealSo white in the midst of the many-hued hours.He weaves a fine trammel of marvellous coloursAround and about him in utter delight,Till straight through the darkness his laughter comes lambent,Birdlike from a cage in a freedom of flight.Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
He has fashioned the stars and the moons to the musicOf innermost-flowering joy and desire,He has tried his own love for himself through the agesBy flooding his limbs with unquenchable fireOf creation that dances and bubbles and fluttersIn peacocks, in seas, and the hearts of the birds.Behind the rich silence of red-running sunsetsAnd cool-coloured sundawns he utters his words.
He is finding for ever his infinite fullnessIn blossoming buds and the withering flowers.He shapes through the heart of the world his IdealSo white in the midst of the many-hued hours.He weaves a fine trammel of marvellous coloursAround and about him in utter delight,Till straight through the darkness his laughter comes lambent,Birdlike from a cage in a freedom of flight.
Harindranath Chattopadhyaya.
Forgive this wrong:That of your beauty I have madeOnly a passing song,Only a white-flower song that will fadeEre I have time to lay it beneathThe shapèd beauty of your feet.Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
Forgive this wrong:That of your beauty I have madeOnly a passing song,Only a white-flower song that will fadeEre I have time to lay it beneathThe shapèd beauty of your feet.Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
Forgive this wrong:That of your beauty I have madeOnly a passing song,Only a white-flower song that will fadeEre I have time to lay it beneathThe shapèd beauty of your feet.
Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
O long black hair of love,In your dark shades a dove,My heart, circles in rings,Beating white wings.Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
O long black hair of love,In your dark shades a dove,My heart, circles in rings,Beating white wings.Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
O long black hair of love,In your dark shades a dove,My heart, circles in rings,Beating white wings.
Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
O, I have dreamt on many rain-dim evesOf Beauty folded in the flowers and leaves,Spraying the grass with laughter as with lightOf shaken pearls that lit her hair’s dark night;But never dreamed her eyes so deep might beAs those with which last eve you gazed at me.Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
O, I have dreamt on many rain-dim evesOf Beauty folded in the flowers and leaves,Spraying the grass with laughter as with lightOf shaken pearls that lit her hair’s dark night;But never dreamed her eyes so deep might beAs those with which last eve you gazed at me.Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
O, I have dreamt on many rain-dim evesOf Beauty folded in the flowers and leaves,Spraying the grass with laughter as with lightOf shaken pearls that lit her hair’s dark night;But never dreamed her eyes so deep might beAs those with which last eve you gazed at me.
Jehangir Jivaji Vakil.
Spring that in my courtyard used to makeSuch riot once, and buzzing laughter lift,With heaped drift—Pomegranate-flowers,Kanchan,parul, rain ofpalas-showers;Spring whose new twigs stirred the woods awake,With rosy kisses maddening all the sky,[1]Seeks me out to-day with soundless feet,Where I sit alone. Her steadfast gazeGoes out to where the fields and heavens meet;Beside my silent cottage, silentlyShe looks and sees the greenness swoon and dieInto the azure haze.Rabindranath Tagore.
Spring that in my courtyard used to makeSuch riot once, and buzzing laughter lift,With heaped drift—Pomegranate-flowers,Kanchan,parul, rain ofpalas-showers;Spring whose new twigs stirred the woods awake,With rosy kisses maddening all the sky,[1]Seeks me out to-day with soundless feet,Where I sit alone. Her steadfast gazeGoes out to where the fields and heavens meet;Beside my silent cottage, silentlyShe looks and sees the greenness swoon and dieInto the azure haze.Rabindranath Tagore.
Spring that in my courtyard used to makeSuch riot once, and buzzing laughter lift,With heaped drift—Pomegranate-flowers,Kanchan,parul, rain ofpalas-showers;Spring whose new twigs stirred the woods awake,With rosy kisses maddening all the sky,[1]Seeks me out to-day with soundless feet,Where I sit alone. Her steadfast gazeGoes out to where the fields and heavens meet;Beside my silent cottage, silentlyShe looks and sees the greenness swoon and dieInto the azure haze.
Rabindranath Tagore.
I know this day will pass,This day will pass—[2]That one day, some day,The dim sun with tender smilingWill look in my face,Looking his last farewell.Beside the way the flute will sound,The kine will graze on the river-bank,The children will play in the courtyards,The birds will sing on.Yet this day will pass,This day will pass.This is my prayer,My prayer to Thee:That ere I go I may learnWhy the green Earth,Lifting her eyes to the sky,Called me to her;Why the silence of the NightTold me of the stars,Why the Day’s gloryRaised waves in my soul.This is my prayer to Thee.When Earth’s revolutionsFor me are ended,In the finishing of my songLet me pause a moment,That I may fill my basketWith the flowers and fruits of the Six Seasons;[3]That in the light of this lifeI may see Thee in going,That I may garland Thee in goingWith the garland from my own throat—When Earth’s revolutions for me are ended.Rabindranath Tagore.
I know this day will pass,This day will pass—[2]That one day, some day,The dim sun with tender smilingWill look in my face,Looking his last farewell.Beside the way the flute will sound,The kine will graze on the river-bank,The children will play in the courtyards,The birds will sing on.Yet this day will pass,This day will pass.This is my prayer,My prayer to Thee:That ere I go I may learnWhy the green Earth,Lifting her eyes to the sky,Called me to her;Why the silence of the NightTold me of the stars,Why the Day’s gloryRaised waves in my soul.This is my prayer to Thee.When Earth’s revolutionsFor me are ended,In the finishing of my songLet me pause a moment,That I may fill my basketWith the flowers and fruits of the Six Seasons;[3]That in the light of this lifeI may see Thee in going,That I may garland Thee in goingWith the garland from my own throat—When Earth’s revolutions for me are ended.Rabindranath Tagore.
I know this day will pass,This day will pass—[2]That one day, some day,The dim sun with tender smilingWill look in my face,Looking his last farewell.Beside the way the flute will sound,The kine will graze on the river-bank,The children will play in the courtyards,The birds will sing on.Yet this day will pass,This day will pass.This is my prayer,My prayer to Thee:That ere I go I may learnWhy the green Earth,Lifting her eyes to the sky,Called me to her;Why the silence of the NightTold me of the stars,Why the Day’s gloryRaised waves in my soul.This is my prayer to Thee.When Earth’s revolutionsFor me are ended,In the finishing of my songLet me pause a moment,That I may fill my basketWith the flowers and fruits of the Six Seasons;[3]That in the light of this lifeI may see Thee in going,That I may garland Thee in goingWith the garland from my own throat—When Earth’s revolutions for me are ended.
Rabindranath Tagore.
Thou art not Mother, art not Daughter, art not Bride!Thou beautiful, comely One,O Dweller in Paradise, Urvasi!When Evening descends on the pastures, drawing about her tired body her golden cloth,Thou lightest the evening lamp within no home.With hesitant, wavering steps, with throbbing breast and downcast look,Thou dost not go, smiling, fearful, to any belovèd’s bed,In the hushed midnight.Like the rising Dawn, thou art unveiled,Unshrinking One!Like some stemless flower, blooming in thyself,When didst thou blossom, Urvasi?That primal Spring, thou didst arise from the churning of Ocean,[5]In thy right hand nectar, venom in thy left.The swelling, mighty Sea, like a serpent tamed with spells,Drooping his thousand, towering hoods,Fell at thy feet!White as thekunda[6]blossom, a naked beauty, adored by the King of Gods,Thou flawless One!Wast thou never bud, never maiden of tender years,O eternally youthful Urvasi?Sitting alone, under whose dark roofDidst thou know childhood’s play, toying with gems and pearls?At whose side, in some chamber lit with the flashing of gems,Lulled by the chant of the sea-waves, didst thou sleep, in coral bed,A smile on thy pure face?That moment when thou awakedst into the universe, thou wast framed of youth,In full-blown beauty!From age to age thou hast been the world’s beloved,O unsurpassed in loveliness, Urvasi!Breaking their meditation, sages lay at thy feet the fruits of their penance;Smitten with thy glance, the three worlds[7]grow restless with youth;The blinded winds blow thine intoxicating fragrance around;Like the black bee, honey-drunken, the infatuated poet wonders, with greedy heart,Lifting chants of wild jubilation!While thou ... thou goest with jingling anklets and waving skirts,Restless as lightning!In the assembly of Gods, when thou dancest in ecstasy of joy,O swaying Wave, Urvasi!The companies of billows in mid-ocean swell and dance, beat on beat;In the crests of the corn the skirts of Earth tremble;From thy necklace stars fall off, in the sky;Suddenly in the breast of man the heart forgets itself,The blood dances!Suddenly in the horizon thy zone bursts,Ah, wild in abandon!On the Sunrise Mount of Heaven thou art the embodied Dawn,O world-enchanting Urvasi!The slimness of thy form is washed with the tears of the Universe;The ruddy hue of thy feet is painted with the heart’s blood of the three worlds;Thy tresses disrobed from their braid, thou hast placed thy light feet,Thy lotus-feet, on the lotus of the blossomedDesires of the universe!Endless are thy masques in the mind’s heaven,O Comrade of dreams!Ah, hear what crying and weeping everywhere rises for thee,O cruel, deaf Urvasi!Ah, will that Ancient Prime ever revisit this earth?From the shoreless, unfathomed deep wilt thou ever rise again, with wet locks?First in the First Dawn that Form will show!In the startled gaze of the universe all thy limbs will weep,The waters flowing from them!Suddenly the vast Sea, in songs never heard before,Will thunder with its waves!She will not return, she will not return! That Moon of Glory has set,She has made her home on the Mount of Setting,[8]has Urvasi!Therefore to-day, on earth, with the joyous breath of SpringMingles the long-drawn sigh of some eternal separation!On the night of full moon, when the world brims with laughter,Memory, from somewhere far away, pipes a flute that brings unrest,The tears gush out!Yet in that weeping of the spirit Hope wakes and lives;Ah, Unfettered One!Rabindranath Tagore.
Thou art not Mother, art not Daughter, art not Bride!Thou beautiful, comely One,O Dweller in Paradise, Urvasi!When Evening descends on the pastures, drawing about her tired body her golden cloth,Thou lightest the evening lamp within no home.With hesitant, wavering steps, with throbbing breast and downcast look,Thou dost not go, smiling, fearful, to any belovèd’s bed,In the hushed midnight.Like the rising Dawn, thou art unveiled,Unshrinking One!Like some stemless flower, blooming in thyself,When didst thou blossom, Urvasi?That primal Spring, thou didst arise from the churning of Ocean,[5]In thy right hand nectar, venom in thy left.The swelling, mighty Sea, like a serpent tamed with spells,Drooping his thousand, towering hoods,Fell at thy feet!White as thekunda[6]blossom, a naked beauty, adored by the King of Gods,Thou flawless One!Wast thou never bud, never maiden of tender years,O eternally youthful Urvasi?Sitting alone, under whose dark roofDidst thou know childhood’s play, toying with gems and pearls?At whose side, in some chamber lit with the flashing of gems,Lulled by the chant of the sea-waves, didst thou sleep, in coral bed,A smile on thy pure face?That moment when thou awakedst into the universe, thou wast framed of youth,In full-blown beauty!From age to age thou hast been the world’s beloved,O unsurpassed in loveliness, Urvasi!Breaking their meditation, sages lay at thy feet the fruits of their penance;Smitten with thy glance, the three worlds[7]grow restless with youth;The blinded winds blow thine intoxicating fragrance around;Like the black bee, honey-drunken, the infatuated poet wonders, with greedy heart,Lifting chants of wild jubilation!While thou ... thou goest with jingling anklets and waving skirts,Restless as lightning!In the assembly of Gods, when thou dancest in ecstasy of joy,O swaying Wave, Urvasi!The companies of billows in mid-ocean swell and dance, beat on beat;In the crests of the corn the skirts of Earth tremble;From thy necklace stars fall off, in the sky;Suddenly in the breast of man the heart forgets itself,The blood dances!Suddenly in the horizon thy zone bursts,Ah, wild in abandon!On the Sunrise Mount of Heaven thou art the embodied Dawn,O world-enchanting Urvasi!The slimness of thy form is washed with the tears of the Universe;The ruddy hue of thy feet is painted with the heart’s blood of the three worlds;Thy tresses disrobed from their braid, thou hast placed thy light feet,Thy lotus-feet, on the lotus of the blossomedDesires of the universe!Endless are thy masques in the mind’s heaven,O Comrade of dreams!Ah, hear what crying and weeping everywhere rises for thee,O cruel, deaf Urvasi!Ah, will that Ancient Prime ever revisit this earth?From the shoreless, unfathomed deep wilt thou ever rise again, with wet locks?First in the First Dawn that Form will show!In the startled gaze of the universe all thy limbs will weep,The waters flowing from them!Suddenly the vast Sea, in songs never heard before,Will thunder with its waves!She will not return, she will not return! That Moon of Glory has set,She has made her home on the Mount of Setting,[8]has Urvasi!Therefore to-day, on earth, with the joyous breath of SpringMingles the long-drawn sigh of some eternal separation!On the night of full moon, when the world brims with laughter,Memory, from somewhere far away, pipes a flute that brings unrest,The tears gush out!Yet in that weeping of the spirit Hope wakes and lives;Ah, Unfettered One!Rabindranath Tagore.
Thou art not Mother, art not Daughter, art not Bride!Thou beautiful, comely One,O Dweller in Paradise, Urvasi!When Evening descends on the pastures, drawing about her tired body her golden cloth,Thou lightest the evening lamp within no home.With hesitant, wavering steps, with throbbing breast and downcast look,Thou dost not go, smiling, fearful, to any belovèd’s bed,In the hushed midnight.Like the rising Dawn, thou art unveiled,Unshrinking One!Like some stemless flower, blooming in thyself,When didst thou blossom, Urvasi?That primal Spring, thou didst arise from the churning of Ocean,[5]In thy right hand nectar, venom in thy left.The swelling, mighty Sea, like a serpent tamed with spells,Drooping his thousand, towering hoods,Fell at thy feet!White as thekunda[6]blossom, a naked beauty, adored by the King of Gods,Thou flawless One!
Wast thou never bud, never maiden of tender years,O eternally youthful Urvasi?Sitting alone, under whose dark roofDidst thou know childhood’s play, toying with gems and pearls?At whose side, in some chamber lit with the flashing of gems,Lulled by the chant of the sea-waves, didst thou sleep, in coral bed,A smile on thy pure face?
That moment when thou awakedst into the universe, thou wast framed of youth,In full-blown beauty!
From age to age thou hast been the world’s beloved,O unsurpassed in loveliness, Urvasi!Breaking their meditation, sages lay at thy feet the fruits of their penance;Smitten with thy glance, the three worlds[7]grow restless with youth;The blinded winds blow thine intoxicating fragrance around;Like the black bee, honey-drunken, the infatuated poet wonders, with greedy heart,Lifting chants of wild jubilation!While thou ... thou goest with jingling anklets and waving skirts,Restless as lightning!
In the assembly of Gods, when thou dancest in ecstasy of joy,O swaying Wave, Urvasi!The companies of billows in mid-ocean swell and dance, beat on beat;In the crests of the corn the skirts of Earth tremble;From thy necklace stars fall off, in the sky;Suddenly in the breast of man the heart forgets itself,The blood dances!Suddenly in the horizon thy zone bursts,Ah, wild in abandon!
On the Sunrise Mount of Heaven thou art the embodied Dawn,O world-enchanting Urvasi!The slimness of thy form is washed with the tears of the Universe;The ruddy hue of thy feet is painted with the heart’s blood of the three worlds;Thy tresses disrobed from their braid, thou hast placed thy light feet,Thy lotus-feet, on the lotus of the blossomedDesires of the universe!Endless are thy masques in the mind’s heaven,O Comrade of dreams!
Ah, hear what crying and weeping everywhere rises for thee,O cruel, deaf Urvasi!Ah, will that Ancient Prime ever revisit this earth?From the shoreless, unfathomed deep wilt thou ever rise again, with wet locks?First in the First Dawn that Form will show!In the startled gaze of the universe all thy limbs will weep,The waters flowing from them!Suddenly the vast Sea, in songs never heard before,Will thunder with its waves!
She will not return, she will not return! That Moon of Glory has set,She has made her home on the Mount of Setting,[8]has Urvasi!Therefore to-day, on earth, with the joyous breath of SpringMingles the long-drawn sigh of some eternal separation!On the night of full moon, when the world brims with laughter,Memory, from somewhere far away, pipes a flute that brings unrest,The tears gush out!Yet in that weeping of the spirit Hope wakes and lives;Ah, Unfettered One!
Rabindranath Tagore.
All my guilt of old, sin upon sin, put far, far away. Give, O Lord, give in my heart the melody of a new song.
To stir to life my withered, unfeeling heart, near to death and poor, play thy melody on thebīnā, taking ever a new tune.
As in Nature thy sweetness overflows, so let thy compassion wake in my heart.
In the midst of all things may thy loving face float before my eyes. May no rebel thought against thy wish ever wake in my heart.
Day by day, before I set foot in life’s forest, may I crave thy blessing and so advance, my Lord.
Setting thy commands upon my head, may I with unfaltering care accomplish my every task in the remembrance of thy feet.
Giving to thee the fruit of my task fulfilled, at the end of day may my wearied spirit and body find rest.
Hurrying have I come from far away, knowing thee compassionate. A hundred hindrances there were to my coming. How many thorns fill the path to my goal. So, to-day, behold! my heart is wounded, my life is dark. Hurrying have I come from far away, knowing thee compassionate.
Open thou thy door of mercy. My raft of life drifts on the boundless ocean. Fearlessness art thou, and ever powerful. Nought have I, I am weak and poor. My heart is thirsting for thy lotus feet. The day is now far spent. Open thou thy door of mercy. My raft of life drifts on the boundless ocean.[9]
Hemantabālā Dutt.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Hemantabālā Dutt.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Hemantabālā Dutt.
Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Lo! the heavy rain has come! With loosened tresses densely dark, lo! the sky is covered. Lightnings rend the thick darkness over the mountains. All around, to my heart’s content, I see that beauty has burst forth.
See, frolicsome, she pours forth her loveliness in a thousand streams! Her raiment, hastily flung around her in disarray, mad passion in her eyes, with the voice of thepāpiyā, full of sweetness and pity, she sings.
Slowly move her feet. Slipping, slipping, falls her loosely hanging scarf. Her heart throbs with tumultuous feeling. As if a flood of beauty overflows, her green jacket of emerald grass displays the hue of her radiant beauty all around.
The anklets on her feet, keeping time, ring outin swift succession, as if they were sweet cymbals. Round her lovely throat hangs her chain of emerald parrots. The rain has ceased and she garbs herself in silken robes broidered with diamond raindrops.
She gladdens the eye. On the treetops birds play on golden tambourines. Is the dancer dancing in Indra’s hall, casting restless glances here and there? Urbasī[10]puts off the chain of jewels from her breast.
How gay her laughter! How fair a dance her tinkling footsteps weave! Her bracelets and bangles circle glittering. She is girdled with melody of murmuring swans. For her earth and sky swoon away, overflowing with love.
Her hands touched thebīnā[11]and by her spell enthralled my infatuated heart. Tears stream from my eyes; infatuation floods my heart. The witch to-day has melted my timid heart. Lo! the heavy rain has come.
Nirupamā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Nirupamā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Nirupamā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Thee among all men do I honour;Thee among all men do I know.Lo! in the beauty of all thee do I see.In the mouth of all I have heard, I have heardThe sweet voice of thy lips.Thee this time I have sought and found;Thee amongst all do I worship;Lo! I for all have given my life.To the work of all amongst allI have devoted my heart.[12]Nirupamā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Thee among all men do I honour;Thee among all men do I know.Lo! in the beauty of all thee do I see.In the mouth of all I have heard, I have heardThe sweet voice of thy lips.Thee this time I have sought and found;Thee amongst all do I worship;Lo! I for all have given my life.To the work of all amongst allI have devoted my heart.[12]Nirupamā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Thee among all men do I honour;Thee among all men do I know.Lo! in the beauty of all thee do I see.
In the mouth of all I have heard, I have heardThe sweet voice of thy lips.
Thee this time I have sought and found;Thee amongst all do I worship;Lo! I for all have given my life.
To the work of all amongst allI have devoted my heart.[12]
Nirupamā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
To-day I shall not indulge in lovers’ quarrels.I shall not open the ledger and calculate debit and credit.Only, once again, I shall fill my heart with remembrance of thee.[13]Priyambadā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
To-day I shall not indulge in lovers’ quarrels.I shall not open the ledger and calculate debit and credit.Only, once again, I shall fill my heart with remembrance of thee.[13]Priyambadā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
To-day I shall not indulge in lovers’ quarrels.I shall not open the ledger and calculate debit and credit.Only, once again, I shall fill my heart with remembrance of thee.[13]
Priyambadā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Dearest, I know that thy body is but transitory; that the kindled life, thy shining eyes, shall be quenched by the touch of death, I know;that this thy body, the meeting-place of all beauty, in seeing which I count my life well-lived, shall become but a heap of bones, I know. Yet I love thy body. Day by day afresh through it have I satisfied a woman’s love and desire by serving thy feet and worshipping thee. On days of good omen I have decked thee with a flower-garland; on days of woe I have wiped away with mysārīend thy tears of grief. O my lord, I know that thy soul is with the Everlasting One, yet waking suddenly some nights I have wept in loneliness, thinking how thou didst drive away my fear, clasping me to thy breast. And so I count thy body as the chief goal of my love, as very heaven.[14]
Priyambadā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Priyambadā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Priyambadā Debī.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
We are indeed children of Light. What an endless mart goes on in the Light! In the Light is our sleeping and waking, the play of our life and death.
Beneath one great canopy, in the ray of one great sun, slowly, very slowly, burn the unnumbered lamps of life.
In the midst of this unending Light I losemyself; amidst this intolerable radiance I wander like one blind.
We are indeed children of Light. Why then do we fear when we see the Light? Come, let us look all around and see, here no man hath cause for any fear.
In this boundless ocean of Light, if a tiny lamp goes out, let it go; who can say that it will not burn again?
Mrs. Kāminī Roy.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Mrs. Kāminī Roy.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Mrs. Kāminī Roy.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
She went on the wrong way; she has come back again; afar off she stands, her head bowed down with shame and fear; she does not step forward, she cannot raise her eyes—go near, take her hand, call her and bring her.
To-day turn not your face away in silent reproach; to-day let eyes and words be filled with the nectar of love. What good will come from pouring scorn on the past? Think of her dark future, take her by the hand and bring her.
Lest for lack of love this shamed soul fling away repentance, bring her, call and bring her. She has come to give herself up; bind her fast with loving arms; if she goes to-day, what if she never comes again?
By one day’s neglect, one day’s contempt andanger, you will lose a life for ever. Do you not purpose to give life? Neglect is a poisoned arrow; with sorrowing pardon bring her, call and bring her.
Mrs. Kāminī Roy.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Mrs. Kāminī Roy.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Mrs. Kāminī Roy.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
To-day, after a year, on the sacred fifth day, Nature has flung away her worn raiment, and with new jewels, see, with fresh buds and new shoots she has begemmed herself and smiles. The birds wing their way, singing with joy; ah, how lovely! The black bee hums as if with sound of “Ulu! ulu!” he wished good fortune to Nature. The south breeze seems to say as it flits from house to house, “To-day Bīnāpāni[16]comes here to Bengal.” Arrayed in guise that would enrapture even sages, maid Nature has come to worship thy feet, O propitious one! See, O India, at this time all pay no heed to fear of plague, famine, earthquake; all put away pain and grief and gloom; to-day all are drunk with pleasure. For a year Nature was waiting in hope for this day to come. Many folk in many a fashion now summon thee, O white-armed one;I also have a mind to worship. Thy two feet are red lotuses; but, say, with what gift shall we worship thee, O mother Bīnāpāni? Ever sorrowful, ever ill-starred are we women of Bengal, all of us. Yet if thou have mercy, this utterly dependent one will worship thee with the gift of a single tear of devotion shed on thy lotus feet. Graciously accept that, and in mercy, O white-armed one, grant this blessing on my head on this propitious, sacred day, that this life may be spent in thy worship, Mother.
Pankajinī Basu.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Pankajinī Basu.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Pankajinī Basu.Tr. Miss Whitehouse.
Round the black eyes are eyebrows looking like a bow,They are not frightened at all, and they shoot their arrows with certainty.Seeing the precious ear-rings with pearls and beautiful settings,Even the moon with all the stars is filled with shame.I cannot describe the beauty of the lips, cheeks, teeth, and nose,Even Śesh Nāg,[17]seeing the beautiful hair, sighs deeply.Śrī Sarasvatī Devī.Tr. Mrs. Keay.
Round the black eyes are eyebrows looking like a bow,They are not frightened at all, and they shoot their arrows with certainty.Seeing the precious ear-rings with pearls and beautiful settings,Even the moon with all the stars is filled with shame.I cannot describe the beauty of the lips, cheeks, teeth, and nose,Even Śesh Nāg,[17]seeing the beautiful hair, sighs deeply.Śrī Sarasvatī Devī.Tr. Mrs. Keay.
Round the black eyes are eyebrows looking like a bow,They are not frightened at all, and they shoot their arrows with certainty.Seeing the precious ear-rings with pearls and beautiful settings,Even the moon with all the stars is filled with shame.I cannot describe the beauty of the lips, cheeks, teeth, and nose,Even Śesh Nāg,[17]seeing the beautiful hair, sighs deeply.
Śrī Sarasvatī Devī.Tr. Mrs. Keay.
Withdrawn in silence from the raging sea,Behind the dark and waving grove of palmIn glorious solitude at even calmWe glide at water’s edge, towards the leaAway from busy haunts; EternityAnd Love, the burden of our rapturous psalm,As ’neath the star-lit heaven we breathe the balmOf Nature’s stillness, lulling you and meTo dream in soft ethereal realms of blissWhere flits no darkening shadow, dwells no careAnd all is sweetness and ecstatic light,The plighted faith renewed with every kissOf fervent gratitude for all our shareOf blessed weal in life, by day and night.P. Seshadri.
Withdrawn in silence from the raging sea,Behind the dark and waving grove of palmIn glorious solitude at even calmWe glide at water’s edge, towards the leaAway from busy haunts; EternityAnd Love, the burden of our rapturous psalm,As ’neath the star-lit heaven we breathe the balmOf Nature’s stillness, lulling you and meTo dream in soft ethereal realms of blissWhere flits no darkening shadow, dwells no careAnd all is sweetness and ecstatic light,The plighted faith renewed with every kissOf fervent gratitude for all our shareOf blessed weal in life, by day and night.P. Seshadri.
Withdrawn in silence from the raging sea,Behind the dark and waving grove of palmIn glorious solitude at even calmWe glide at water’s edge, towards the leaAway from busy haunts; EternityAnd Love, the burden of our rapturous psalm,As ’neath the star-lit heaven we breathe the balmOf Nature’s stillness, lulling you and meTo dream in soft ethereal realms of blissWhere flits no darkening shadow, dwells no careAnd all is sweetness and ecstatic light,The plighted faith renewed with every kissOf fervent gratitude for all our shareOf blessed weal in life, by day and night.
P. Seshadri.
Three little girls were on the temple-stairWaiting for worship at the inner shrine;Their tiny hands betrayed a hidden signOf weariness, devoid of strength to bearTheir wealth of luscious fruit and offerings rare—But still they stood. “What shall the Gods assignTo crown your lives?” I asked, “what blessings fineWill cheer with happiness your faces fair?”“A mass of glittering jewels,” said one child,“Bracelet and necklace, shining gold waistbandAnd pearl ear-drop.” “Fine robes of richest laceAnd gayest foam-spun silk,” another willed.The third, with head bent down and trembling hand,Whispered, “A lovely partner on life’s ways.”P. Seshadri.
Three little girls were on the temple-stairWaiting for worship at the inner shrine;Their tiny hands betrayed a hidden signOf weariness, devoid of strength to bearTheir wealth of luscious fruit and offerings rare—But still they stood. “What shall the Gods assignTo crown your lives?” I asked, “what blessings fineWill cheer with happiness your faces fair?”“A mass of glittering jewels,” said one child,“Bracelet and necklace, shining gold waistbandAnd pearl ear-drop.” “Fine robes of richest laceAnd gayest foam-spun silk,” another willed.The third, with head bent down and trembling hand,Whispered, “A lovely partner on life’s ways.”P. Seshadri.
Three little girls were on the temple-stairWaiting for worship at the inner shrine;Their tiny hands betrayed a hidden signOf weariness, devoid of strength to bearTheir wealth of luscious fruit and offerings rare—But still they stood. “What shall the Gods assignTo crown your lives?” I asked, “what blessings fineWill cheer with happiness your faces fair?”“A mass of glittering jewels,” said one child,“Bracelet and necklace, shining gold waistbandAnd pearl ear-drop.” “Fine robes of richest laceAnd gayest foam-spun silk,” another willed.The third, with head bent down and trembling hand,Whispered, “A lovely partner on life’s ways.”
P. Seshadri.
A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold,Tied round the hand by loving sister’s hands,A sacred day inSravan, when the landsAre bathed in welcome rain, is said to holdA potent charm for good. From days of oldThis pretty faith has come and happy bandsOf brothers still pay heed to its commandsOne day each year. Who will be rashly boldAnd flout this festival as void of worth—An ancient mummery—to which man showsHis slavish piety? Let him, who knowsOf beings more devoted than the fair,Of wishes purer than a sister’s care,And stronger powers than woman’s love on earth.P. Seshadri.
A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold,Tied round the hand by loving sister’s hands,A sacred day inSravan, when the landsAre bathed in welcome rain, is said to holdA potent charm for good. From days of oldThis pretty faith has come and happy bandsOf brothers still pay heed to its commandsOne day each year. Who will be rashly boldAnd flout this festival as void of worth—An ancient mummery—to which man showsHis slavish piety? Let him, who knowsOf beings more devoted than the fair,Of wishes purer than a sister’s care,And stronger powers than woman’s love on earth.P. Seshadri.
A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold,Tied round the hand by loving sister’s hands,A sacred day inSravan, when the landsAre bathed in welcome rain, is said to holdA potent charm for good. From days of oldThis pretty faith has come and happy bandsOf brothers still pay heed to its commandsOne day each year. Who will be rashly boldAnd flout this festival as void of worth—An ancient mummery—to which man showsHis slavish piety? Let him, who knowsOf beings more devoted than the fair,Of wishes purer than a sister’s care,And stronger powers than woman’s love on earth.
P. Seshadri.
Were I a mighty Master swaying ArtIn all her lovely forms surpassing fairAnd robed in magic mystery, awareOf cunning artist-craft, a mind and heartAglow with Beauty’s sacred spark, a partOf God’s creative light! If I could shareThe gift of breathing life-infusing airIn canvas, draw thy rapturous sweetness, startThe portrait beaming, bright in loveliness;The sculptor’s skill—to shape thy limbs divineIn living marble, show thy beauty’s prime!Shall I encrowned with laurel, sing for Time,Eternity, and Universe, enshrineThy name for ages, scorning storm and stress?P. Seshadri.
Were I a mighty Master swaying ArtIn all her lovely forms surpassing fairAnd robed in magic mystery, awareOf cunning artist-craft, a mind and heartAglow with Beauty’s sacred spark, a partOf God’s creative light! If I could shareThe gift of breathing life-infusing airIn canvas, draw thy rapturous sweetness, startThe portrait beaming, bright in loveliness;The sculptor’s skill—to shape thy limbs divineIn living marble, show thy beauty’s prime!Shall I encrowned with laurel, sing for Time,Eternity, and Universe, enshrineThy name for ages, scorning storm and stress?P. Seshadri.
Were I a mighty Master swaying ArtIn all her lovely forms surpassing fairAnd robed in magic mystery, awareOf cunning artist-craft, a mind and heartAglow with Beauty’s sacred spark, a partOf God’s creative light! If I could shareThe gift of breathing life-infusing airIn canvas, draw thy rapturous sweetness, startThe portrait beaming, bright in loveliness;The sculptor’s skill—to shape thy limbs divineIn living marble, show thy beauty’s prime!Shall I encrowned with laurel, sing for Time,Eternity, and Universe, enshrineThy name for ages, scorning storm and stress?
P. Seshadri.
When midnight hours know not the peace of sleepBut drudge in trembling hope for envied fame,In ghostly solitude before a flameOf glimmering light, whose sombre rays out-peepTo view the city wrapped in silence deep,Midst weird and darkly waving groves of palm;When wizard clocks ring out and rend the calmWith strides of Time—their thrilling voices creepAlong the soul; my mind with labour worn,Or grappling with a knot, delights to standIn stillness, yearning forth to clasp with loveThy beauteous form—and then, Spring opes above!With blossom’d flow’r and chirping bird, the landSmiles ’neath the sunlit hues the heavens adorn!P. Seshadri.
When midnight hours know not the peace of sleepBut drudge in trembling hope for envied fame,In ghostly solitude before a flameOf glimmering light, whose sombre rays out-peepTo view the city wrapped in silence deep,Midst weird and darkly waving groves of palm;When wizard clocks ring out and rend the calmWith strides of Time—their thrilling voices creepAlong the soul; my mind with labour worn,Or grappling with a knot, delights to standIn stillness, yearning forth to clasp with loveThy beauteous form—and then, Spring opes above!With blossom’d flow’r and chirping bird, the landSmiles ’neath the sunlit hues the heavens adorn!P. Seshadri.
When midnight hours know not the peace of sleepBut drudge in trembling hope for envied fame,In ghostly solitude before a flameOf glimmering light, whose sombre rays out-peepTo view the city wrapped in silence deep,Midst weird and darkly waving groves of palm;When wizard clocks ring out and rend the calmWith strides of Time—their thrilling voices creepAlong the soul; my mind with labour worn,Or grappling with a knot, delights to standIn stillness, yearning forth to clasp with loveThy beauteous form—and then, Spring opes above!With blossom’d flow’r and chirping bird, the landSmiles ’neath the sunlit hues the heavens adorn!
P. Seshadri.
From the rose-gardens of Time, fragrant and fresh, in ecstasies of light—Day has come! How many an age of silent love hath breathed and breathed upon his cheeks that tender flush of rose?
The blue in his eyes—from what lakes of enchantment hath he drunk? The radiant colours of his thought—from what infinite wonder hath he made? The glory of his love for whom, for whom hath he brought? For whom, for whom the music of his clouds, his winds, his birds? The secrets of his soul for whom, for whom?
A Lotus-bud has opened; ere she was born the pain of a vast music did fill and fill her soul with a vain constant hope; in the ecstasy of that pain she bloomed into flower.
The Lotus dreams upon the lyric melodies of Day.
In the sunset hush of evening she folds her petals upon the memories of Day, enwoven with her fragrant devotions.
In the secrecy of Night she sings her praise, making the deeps of the dark melodious.
The glory of his love for whom, for whom doth he bring? For whom, for whom the music of his clouds, his winds, his birds?
The secrets of his soul for whom, for whom?
Fredoon Kabraji.
Fredoon Kabraji.
Fredoon Kabraji.
Where her two lipsMeet or part,Leaps all my heartLike the swift ship’sLurch on the lucent wave—Past peril and the grave!Where her two eyes open or closeUpon the rose-kissed snowsOf her face,From my soul doth riseOf its graceA white star in their skies!But if she smile ...Or weave of her mouth a word,Swiftly a light stealsHalf my mind, whileHer word falls all unheard!And a blue mist reelsHalf curtaining my mind,As a blue dream reelsIn the heart of the blind:Circling a remembranceOf meadows and streams,Of blossoms that open and lights that dance,And passions that struggle to live in dreams!Fredoon Kabraji.
Where her two lipsMeet or part,Leaps all my heartLike the swift ship’sLurch on the lucent wave—Past peril and the grave!Where her two eyes open or closeUpon the rose-kissed snowsOf her face,From my soul doth riseOf its graceA white star in their skies!But if she smile ...Or weave of her mouth a word,Swiftly a light stealsHalf my mind, whileHer word falls all unheard!And a blue mist reelsHalf curtaining my mind,As a blue dream reelsIn the heart of the blind:Circling a remembranceOf meadows and streams,Of blossoms that open and lights that dance,And passions that struggle to live in dreams!Fredoon Kabraji.
Where her two lipsMeet or part,Leaps all my heartLike the swift ship’sLurch on the lucent wave—Past peril and the grave!
Where her two eyes open or closeUpon the rose-kissed snowsOf her face,From my soul doth riseOf its graceA white star in their skies!
But if she smile ...Or weave of her mouth a word,Swiftly a light stealsHalf my mind, whileHer word falls all unheard!And a blue mist reelsHalf curtaining my mind,As a blue dream reelsIn the heart of the blind:Circling a remembranceOf meadows and streams,Of blossoms that open and lights that dance,And passions that struggle to live in dreams!
Fredoon Kabraji.
Tulip, tell me, what do you hold in your cup?
I hold in my cup the magic that swells the thirst of your soul, O Mother, when you look on the form of your child; the opiate that fills your dream, Mother, with the awe of the Unknown!
But, Tulip, tell me, why do you guard your magic beyond the wing of melody?
Because, ere Thought was, a kiss of Love did capture Death in the Seed of Life. That is why no melody of Life can hold all the magic in my cup, Mother; that is why Love cannot hold your child in Life alone!
Fredoon Kabraji.
Fredoon Kabraji.
Fredoon Kabraji.
Thy greens grow pearls, thy sunsets roses fair;My wandering heart returned to stay with thee,In shades of eve, to breathe thy cooler air,That brings refreshment, promised long to me.I love thy water-wheels, that sing to sleepThe playful twilight, Autumn’s moody child,The flames that from thy fields and pinfolds leapLike lights that lead the hearts by Pan beguiled.I love thy country maids with water-jarsWhose graceful coveys rural charms enhance.I love thy palms that gaze at distant stars,And upward draw the earth-encumbered glance.I love thy lake with silver trailing flowers,Whose wavelets fondly hold the starry skies;The moon, entranced by calm of midnight hours,In violet bed on lily-petals lies.No more the eyes of homesick longings pineTo watch the sphere remote where stars abound,But, like thy lake that holds its love divine,My heart within hath longed-for heaven found.Elsa Kazi.
Thy greens grow pearls, thy sunsets roses fair;My wandering heart returned to stay with thee,In shades of eve, to breathe thy cooler air,That brings refreshment, promised long to me.I love thy water-wheels, that sing to sleepThe playful twilight, Autumn’s moody child,The flames that from thy fields and pinfolds leapLike lights that lead the hearts by Pan beguiled.I love thy country maids with water-jarsWhose graceful coveys rural charms enhance.I love thy palms that gaze at distant stars,And upward draw the earth-encumbered glance.I love thy lake with silver trailing flowers,Whose wavelets fondly hold the starry skies;The moon, entranced by calm of midnight hours,In violet bed on lily-petals lies.No more the eyes of homesick longings pineTo watch the sphere remote where stars abound,But, like thy lake that holds its love divine,My heart within hath longed-for heaven found.Elsa Kazi.
Thy greens grow pearls, thy sunsets roses fair;My wandering heart returned to stay with thee,In shades of eve, to breathe thy cooler air,That brings refreshment, promised long to me.I love thy water-wheels, that sing to sleepThe playful twilight, Autumn’s moody child,The flames that from thy fields and pinfolds leapLike lights that lead the hearts by Pan beguiled.I love thy country maids with water-jarsWhose graceful coveys rural charms enhance.I love thy palms that gaze at distant stars,And upward draw the earth-encumbered glance.I love thy lake with silver trailing flowers,Whose wavelets fondly hold the starry skies;The moon, entranced by calm of midnight hours,In violet bed on lily-petals lies.No more the eyes of homesick longings pineTo watch the sphere remote where stars abound,But, like thy lake that holds its love divine,My heart within hath longed-for heaven found.
Elsa Kazi.
To India’s comely cottage Twilight hied:“Salam, my lass!” resplendent Twilight cried:“A sumptuous fare prepare! ... since noon I triedTo come this way ... but ah! the glowing day did stayWith thee!... Fresh milk and fried chapatis bring;Do not forget thy hubble-bubble, dear,For lots of dreamy cheer!From out thy hair the withered lily fling;Don fine array, with pearls thy tresses lay, and playThy vīnā, dance and sing!One stolen hour is mine; that little whileWith haunting notes ofsuri-raagbeguile ...And let me see thy flaming eyes, as thunder skiesSo deep and dark, with mystic lightnings bright;With ‘Duhals’ wake what slumbering lies, the past let riseAll yesterdays to pageant gay, invite ...Be swift, my sweet!The meat and chutney let us eat ...The hour, my sweet,Is fleet; from night I must retreat!Already muezzin’s mellow call resounds in mango grove;And temple bells, that wake the gods, the hearts to worship move;Come hither, dear!... The moments flee!Salam, my love,Salam!”And India, sun-burnt India, sweetly blushed;“Salam! I’ll hasten!” answered she; and brushedFrom off her braid the faded lily—crushedBy day’s embrace; she sped, with joy, her face a-blaze,To milk the goats, to fry the cakes in ghee;Cabob, pullau, the dates and honey broughtAnd hubble-bubble soughtWith smiles of Sindian hospitality.With peri-grace she soared about the place, to traceEach thing that added gleeTo Twilight’s hour ... a rich repast she spreadBefore her guest, who sliced the mangoes red’Neath palms, beside the well and stream ... his eyes a-gleamWith dusk, he watched where night in forests hidAnd vexed with prying silver beam his crimson dream,While India, humming low, her braids undid.With rustling soundUnbound, her tresses sought the ground;With silvery soundShe wound her pearls in orient found ...Her silk-apparel jasmin-decked, kissed rugs of golden cloth;With henna’d hands she swirled her veil, as frail as wings of moth;Her vīnā struck, with bended knee:“Salam,” she quoth:“Salam!”She shot as lightning up ... then paused and smiled;Then round she spun in trance, as dervish wild;In rainbow hue she flew, with flowers piled;A flame a-whirl, with passion red, each curl a-twirl,As Indra’s temple-dancer, maddening heartsHer lips with kisses scarlet!—Eyes aglowNow moved she sly and slowAs Punjab tigress ere for prey she starts ...Then did unfurl a smock as white as pearl ... a girlOf pious Southern partsShe turned, gazellean-soft and meek her glance,The rosary and censer graced her dance;A fragrant bud of womanhood, divinely good;But soon her measure ceased ... with rhythmic thrillIn Delhi’s wealth arrayed she stood, in soaring moodThen danced again, to show her perfect skill!With flourish boldAnd gold a-flash, now anklets told,Her footsteps boldControlled a battle march of old!She forward dashed as amazon of Rajput’s desert side,Her eyes with valour all a-flame, so proudly did she stride:“Wah! Wah!” so Twilight cheered ... and she:“Salam,” replied:“Salam!”Her Jadoo-veil now changed the scene ... and lo!In clouds she danced thro’ Kashmeer’s mountainsnow,Thro’ jungle glooms and tombs of gold below;By Ganges led, where orchards blossoms shed, she sped’Mid Koels as Gopi, or as Rama’s queen ...With shimmering ivory limbs, and rubied browAs Moghul princess nowShe sat ’mid slaves on throne of Jasper sheen.Now made her bed on elephant’s broad head, and fledAs Jin thro’ plantains green.Then rose as butterfly from out her shawlAll poised o’er lucid lakes of Taj Mahal.—The hour had slipped, and night at last approached so fast;And Twilight donned his turban, chilled with fright ...The hookah-stick, he dropped aghast, and India castHer jewelled slipper at her guardian NightWho gently sailed,And trailed the stars ... but Twilight quailedAnd westward sailed!All veiled in mists he drooped and paled!Her lacquered cradle India spread for moonlit night to rest,Namaskar made with folded hands! ... half serious, half a-jest,She fibbered: “Twilight hit at thee ...Salam, my bestSalam!”Elsa Kazi.
To India’s comely cottage Twilight hied:“Salam, my lass!” resplendent Twilight cried:“A sumptuous fare prepare! ... since noon I triedTo come this way ... but ah! the glowing day did stayWith thee!... Fresh milk and fried chapatis bring;Do not forget thy hubble-bubble, dear,For lots of dreamy cheer!From out thy hair the withered lily fling;Don fine array, with pearls thy tresses lay, and playThy vīnā, dance and sing!One stolen hour is mine; that little whileWith haunting notes ofsuri-raagbeguile ...And let me see thy flaming eyes, as thunder skiesSo deep and dark, with mystic lightnings bright;With ‘Duhals’ wake what slumbering lies, the past let riseAll yesterdays to pageant gay, invite ...Be swift, my sweet!The meat and chutney let us eat ...The hour, my sweet,Is fleet; from night I must retreat!Already muezzin’s mellow call resounds in mango grove;And temple bells, that wake the gods, the hearts to worship move;Come hither, dear!... The moments flee!Salam, my love,Salam!”And India, sun-burnt India, sweetly blushed;“Salam! I’ll hasten!” answered she; and brushedFrom off her braid the faded lily—crushedBy day’s embrace; she sped, with joy, her face a-blaze,To milk the goats, to fry the cakes in ghee;Cabob, pullau, the dates and honey broughtAnd hubble-bubble soughtWith smiles of Sindian hospitality.With peri-grace she soared about the place, to traceEach thing that added gleeTo Twilight’s hour ... a rich repast she spreadBefore her guest, who sliced the mangoes red’Neath palms, beside the well and stream ... his eyes a-gleamWith dusk, he watched where night in forests hidAnd vexed with prying silver beam his crimson dream,While India, humming low, her braids undid.With rustling soundUnbound, her tresses sought the ground;With silvery soundShe wound her pearls in orient found ...Her silk-apparel jasmin-decked, kissed rugs of golden cloth;With henna’d hands she swirled her veil, as frail as wings of moth;Her vīnā struck, with bended knee:“Salam,” she quoth:“Salam!”She shot as lightning up ... then paused and smiled;Then round she spun in trance, as dervish wild;In rainbow hue she flew, with flowers piled;A flame a-whirl, with passion red, each curl a-twirl,As Indra’s temple-dancer, maddening heartsHer lips with kisses scarlet!—Eyes aglowNow moved she sly and slowAs Punjab tigress ere for prey she starts ...Then did unfurl a smock as white as pearl ... a girlOf pious Southern partsShe turned, gazellean-soft and meek her glance,The rosary and censer graced her dance;A fragrant bud of womanhood, divinely good;But soon her measure ceased ... with rhythmic thrillIn Delhi’s wealth arrayed she stood, in soaring moodThen danced again, to show her perfect skill!With flourish boldAnd gold a-flash, now anklets told,Her footsteps boldControlled a battle march of old!She forward dashed as amazon of Rajput’s desert side,Her eyes with valour all a-flame, so proudly did she stride:“Wah! Wah!” so Twilight cheered ... and she:“Salam,” replied:“Salam!”Her Jadoo-veil now changed the scene ... and lo!In clouds she danced thro’ Kashmeer’s mountainsnow,Thro’ jungle glooms and tombs of gold below;By Ganges led, where orchards blossoms shed, she sped’Mid Koels as Gopi, or as Rama’s queen ...With shimmering ivory limbs, and rubied browAs Moghul princess nowShe sat ’mid slaves on throne of Jasper sheen.Now made her bed on elephant’s broad head, and fledAs Jin thro’ plantains green.Then rose as butterfly from out her shawlAll poised o’er lucid lakes of Taj Mahal.—The hour had slipped, and night at last approached so fast;And Twilight donned his turban, chilled with fright ...The hookah-stick, he dropped aghast, and India castHer jewelled slipper at her guardian NightWho gently sailed,And trailed the stars ... but Twilight quailedAnd westward sailed!All veiled in mists he drooped and paled!Her lacquered cradle India spread for moonlit night to rest,Namaskar made with folded hands! ... half serious, half a-jest,She fibbered: “Twilight hit at thee ...Salam, my bestSalam!”Elsa Kazi.
To India’s comely cottage Twilight hied:“Salam, my lass!” resplendent Twilight cried:“A sumptuous fare prepare! ... since noon I triedTo come this way ... but ah! the glowing day did stayWith thee!... Fresh milk and fried chapatis bring;Do not forget thy hubble-bubble, dear,For lots of dreamy cheer!From out thy hair the withered lily fling;Don fine array, with pearls thy tresses lay, and playThy vīnā, dance and sing!One stolen hour is mine; that little whileWith haunting notes ofsuri-raagbeguile ...And let me see thy flaming eyes, as thunder skiesSo deep and dark, with mystic lightnings bright;With ‘Duhals’ wake what slumbering lies, the past let riseAll yesterdays to pageant gay, invite ...Be swift, my sweet!The meat and chutney let us eat ...The hour, my sweet,Is fleet; from night I must retreat!Already muezzin’s mellow call resounds in mango grove;And temple bells, that wake the gods, the hearts to worship move;Come hither, dear!... The moments flee!Salam, my love,Salam!”
And India, sun-burnt India, sweetly blushed;“Salam! I’ll hasten!” answered she; and brushedFrom off her braid the faded lily—crushedBy day’s embrace; she sped, with joy, her face a-blaze,To milk the goats, to fry the cakes in ghee;Cabob, pullau, the dates and honey broughtAnd hubble-bubble soughtWith smiles of Sindian hospitality.With peri-grace she soared about the place, to traceEach thing that added gleeTo Twilight’s hour ... a rich repast she spreadBefore her guest, who sliced the mangoes red’Neath palms, beside the well and stream ... his eyes a-gleamWith dusk, he watched where night in forests hidAnd vexed with prying silver beam his crimson dream,While India, humming low, her braids undid.With rustling soundUnbound, her tresses sought the ground;With silvery soundShe wound her pearls in orient found ...Her silk-apparel jasmin-decked, kissed rugs of golden cloth;With henna’d hands she swirled her veil, as frail as wings of moth;Her vīnā struck, with bended knee:“Salam,” she quoth:“Salam!”
She shot as lightning up ... then paused and smiled;Then round she spun in trance, as dervish wild;In rainbow hue she flew, with flowers piled;A flame a-whirl, with passion red, each curl a-twirl,As Indra’s temple-dancer, maddening heartsHer lips with kisses scarlet!—Eyes aglowNow moved she sly and slowAs Punjab tigress ere for prey she starts ...Then did unfurl a smock as white as pearl ... a girlOf pious Southern partsShe turned, gazellean-soft and meek her glance,The rosary and censer graced her dance;A fragrant bud of womanhood, divinely good;But soon her measure ceased ... with rhythmic thrillIn Delhi’s wealth arrayed she stood, in soaring moodThen danced again, to show her perfect skill!With flourish boldAnd gold a-flash, now anklets told,Her footsteps boldControlled a battle march of old!She forward dashed as amazon of Rajput’s desert side,Her eyes with valour all a-flame, so proudly did she stride:“Wah! Wah!” so Twilight cheered ... and she:“Salam,” replied:“Salam!”
Her Jadoo-veil now changed the scene ... and lo!In clouds she danced thro’ Kashmeer’s mountainsnow,Thro’ jungle glooms and tombs of gold below;By Ganges led, where orchards blossoms shed, she sped’Mid Koels as Gopi, or as Rama’s queen ...With shimmering ivory limbs, and rubied browAs Moghul princess nowShe sat ’mid slaves on throne of Jasper sheen.Now made her bed on elephant’s broad head, and fledAs Jin thro’ plantains green.Then rose as butterfly from out her shawlAll poised o’er lucid lakes of Taj Mahal.—The hour had slipped, and night at last approached so fast;And Twilight donned his turban, chilled with fright ...The hookah-stick, he dropped aghast, and India castHer jewelled slipper at her guardian NightWho gently sailed,And trailed the stars ... but Twilight quailedAnd westward sailed!All veiled in mists he drooped and paled!Her lacquered cradle India spread for moonlit night to rest,Namaskar made with folded hands! ... half serious, half a-jest,She fibbered: “Twilight hit at thee ...Salam, my bestSalam!”
Elsa Kazi.
The Queen Roshanara is sad and weeps in the absence of her lord in battle. Her maidens strive to comfort her: