Shivratri (the Night of Shiva)

Shivratri (the Night of Shiva)

(While the procession passed at Ramesram)

Nearer and nearer cometh the carWhere the Golden Goddess towers,Sweeter and sweeter grows the airFrom a thousand trampled flowers.We two rest in the Temple shadeSafe from the pilgrim flood,This path of the Gods in olden daysRan royally red with blood.Louder and louder and louder yetThrobs the sorrowful drum—That is the tortured world’s despair,Never a moment dumb.Shriller and shriller shriek the flutes,Nature’s passionate need—Paler and paler grow my lips,And still thou bid’st them bleed.Deeper and deeper and deeper still,Never a pause for pain—Darker and darker falls the nightThat golden torches stain.Closer, ah! closer, and still more close,Till thy soul reach my soul—Further, further, out on the tideFrom the shores of self-control.Glowing, glowing, to whitest heat,Thy feverish passions burn,Fiercer and fiercer, cruelly fierce,To thee my senses yearn.Fainter and fainter runs my bloodWith desperate fight for breath—This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love,Or I should have deemed it Death!

Nearer and nearer cometh the carWhere the Golden Goddess towers,Sweeter and sweeter grows the airFrom a thousand trampled flowers.We two rest in the Temple shadeSafe from the pilgrim flood,This path of the Gods in olden daysRan royally red with blood.Louder and louder and louder yetThrobs the sorrowful drum—That is the tortured world’s despair,Never a moment dumb.Shriller and shriller shriek the flutes,Nature’s passionate need—Paler and paler grow my lips,And still thou bid’st them bleed.Deeper and deeper and deeper still,Never a pause for pain—Darker and darker falls the nightThat golden torches stain.Closer, ah! closer, and still more close,Till thy soul reach my soul—Further, further, out on the tideFrom the shores of self-control.Glowing, glowing, to whitest heat,Thy feverish passions burn,Fiercer and fiercer, cruelly fierce,To thee my senses yearn.Fainter and fainter runs my bloodWith desperate fight for breath—This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love,Or I should have deemed it Death!

Nearer and nearer cometh the carWhere the Golden Goddess towers,Sweeter and sweeter grows the airFrom a thousand trampled flowers.We two rest in the Temple shadeSafe from the pilgrim flood,This path of the Gods in olden daysRan royally red with blood.

Nearer and nearer cometh the car

Where the Golden Goddess towers,

Sweeter and sweeter grows the air

From a thousand trampled flowers.

We two rest in the Temple shade

Safe from the pilgrim flood,

This path of the Gods in olden days

Ran royally red with blood.

Louder and louder and louder yetThrobs the sorrowful drum—That is the tortured world’s despair,Never a moment dumb.Shriller and shriller shriek the flutes,Nature’s passionate need—Paler and paler grow my lips,And still thou bid’st them bleed.

Louder and louder and louder yet

Throbs the sorrowful drum—

That is the tortured world’s despair,

Never a moment dumb.

Shriller and shriller shriek the flutes,

Nature’s passionate need—

Paler and paler grow my lips,

And still thou bid’st them bleed.

Deeper and deeper and deeper still,Never a pause for pain—Darker and darker falls the nightThat golden torches stain.Closer, ah! closer, and still more close,Till thy soul reach my soul—Further, further, out on the tideFrom the shores of self-control.

Deeper and deeper and deeper still,

Never a pause for pain—

Darker and darker falls the night

That golden torches stain.

Closer, ah! closer, and still more close,

Till thy soul reach my soul—

Further, further, out on the tide

From the shores of self-control.

Glowing, glowing, to whitest heat,Thy feverish passions burn,Fiercer and fiercer, cruelly fierce,To thee my senses yearn.Fainter and fainter runs my bloodWith desperate fight for breath—This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love,Or I should have deemed it Death!

Glowing, glowing, to whitest heat,

Thy feverish passions burn,

Fiercer and fiercer, cruelly fierce,

To thee my senses yearn.

Fainter and fainter runs my blood

With desperate fight for breath—

This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love,

Or I should have deemed it Death!


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