Song of Ramesram Temple Girl
Now is the season of my youth,Not thus shall I always be,Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young,Take thy pleasure with me.My hair is straight as the falling rain,And fine as morning mist,I am a rose awaiting theeThat none have touched or kissed.Do as thou wilt with mine and me,Beloved, I only pray,Follow the promptings of thy youth.Let there be no delay!A leaf that flutters upon the bough,A moment, and it is gone,—A bubble amid the fountain spray,—Ah, pause, and think thereon;For such is youth and its passing bloomThat wait for thee this hour,If aught in thy heart incline to meAh, stoop and pluck thy flower!Come, my Lord, to the temple shade,Where cooling fountains play,If aught in thy heart incline to loveLet there be no delay!Many shall faint with love of meAnd I shall slake their thirst,But Fate has brought thee hither to-dayThat thou shouldst be the first.Old, so old are the temple-walls,Love is older than they;But I am the short-lived temple rose,Blooming for thee to-day.Thine am I, Prince, and only thine,What is there more so say?If aught in thy heart incline to loveLet there be no delay!
Now is the season of my youth,Not thus shall I always be,Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young,Take thy pleasure with me.My hair is straight as the falling rain,And fine as morning mist,I am a rose awaiting theeThat none have touched or kissed.Do as thou wilt with mine and me,Beloved, I only pray,Follow the promptings of thy youth.Let there be no delay!A leaf that flutters upon the bough,A moment, and it is gone,—A bubble amid the fountain spray,—Ah, pause, and think thereon;For such is youth and its passing bloomThat wait for thee this hour,If aught in thy heart incline to meAh, stoop and pluck thy flower!Come, my Lord, to the temple shade,Where cooling fountains play,If aught in thy heart incline to loveLet there be no delay!Many shall faint with love of meAnd I shall slake their thirst,But Fate has brought thee hither to-dayThat thou shouldst be the first.Old, so old are the temple-walls,Love is older than they;But I am the short-lived temple rose,Blooming for thee to-day.Thine am I, Prince, and only thine,What is there more so say?If aught in thy heart incline to loveLet there be no delay!
Now is the season of my youth,Not thus shall I always be,Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young,Take thy pleasure with me.My hair is straight as the falling rain,And fine as morning mist,I am a rose awaiting theeThat none have touched or kissed.
Now is the season of my youth,
Not thus shall I always be,
Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young,
Take thy pleasure with me.
My hair is straight as the falling rain,
And fine as morning mist,
I am a rose awaiting thee
That none have touched or kissed.
Do as thou wilt with mine and me,Beloved, I only pray,Follow the promptings of thy youth.Let there be no delay!
Do as thou wilt with mine and me,
Beloved, I only pray,
Follow the promptings of thy youth.
Let there be no delay!
A leaf that flutters upon the bough,A moment, and it is gone,—A bubble amid the fountain spray,—Ah, pause, and think thereon;For such is youth and its passing bloomThat wait for thee this hour,If aught in thy heart incline to meAh, stoop and pluck thy flower!
A leaf that flutters upon the bough,
A moment, and it is gone,—
A bubble amid the fountain spray,—
Ah, pause, and think thereon;
For such is youth and its passing bloom
That wait for thee this hour,
If aught in thy heart incline to me
Ah, stoop and pluck thy flower!
Come, my Lord, to the temple shade,Where cooling fountains play,If aught in thy heart incline to loveLet there be no delay!
Come, my Lord, to the temple shade,
Where cooling fountains play,
If aught in thy heart incline to love
Let there be no delay!
Many shall faint with love of meAnd I shall slake their thirst,But Fate has brought thee hither to-dayThat thou shouldst be the first.Old, so old are the temple-walls,Love is older than they;But I am the short-lived temple rose,Blooming for thee to-day.
Many shall faint with love of me
And I shall slake their thirst,
But Fate has brought thee hither to-day
That thou shouldst be the first.
Old, so old are the temple-walls,
Love is older than they;
But I am the short-lived temple rose,
Blooming for thee to-day.
Thine am I, Prince, and only thine,What is there more so say?If aught in thy heart incline to loveLet there be no delay!
Thine am I, Prince, and only thine,
What is there more so say?
If aught in thy heart incline to love
Let there be no delay!