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The rosy mist stilly polishes the round mirror,The moon;Golden her faceReflecting the cool sweet glory of aBaby sunWhen danglingHis short golden arms in the cradle of the skyAfter nightGave him birth,And herself died as day dies to see the moon,This goldenRose-washed stoneThat the unseen hand puts on the crown of nightBeside it putsBits of white—The star-jewels like million fancies, worshippingThe goddessOf dream.

The rosy mist stilly polishes the round mirror,The moon;Golden her face

Reflecting the cool sweet glory of aBaby sunWhen dangling

His short golden arms in the cradle of the skyAfter nightGave him birth,

And herself died as day dies to see the moon,This goldenRose-washed stone

That the unseen hand puts on the crown of nightBeside it putsBits of white—

The star-jewels like million fancies, worshippingThe goddessOf dream.

The sun's golden spear,The violet cloud writhing in pain;Golden the tint of the sky,The tall trees wave their green-gold hair.Music of this hour!The zephyr's perfume-laden argosyDrifts with the song of lutesDown the sunset-stream that falls from heaven's bower.Another flow of light,Tinkling like the intangible bells of paradise,Flows out of my heartInto the mysterious love-perfumed ocean of night.

The sun's golden spear,The violet cloud writhing in pain;Golden the tint of the sky,The tall trees wave their green-gold hair.

Music of this hour!The zephyr's perfume-laden argosyDrifts with the song of lutesDown the sunset-stream that falls from heaven's bower.

Another flow of light,Tinkling like the intangible bells of paradise,Flows out of my heartInto the mysterious love-perfumed ocean of night.

A field of battle—this sky,The sun, the hero bleeding to death;The shadows and lights hurl theirHosts of clouds ceaselessly:No peace?Warfare all?Nay, lo! she cometh—The Spirit of Truce,The Evening Star!

Time has passed, sinceShadows trembled to watchTwilight sweep the earthFor the phantoms to trip and mince.A dark breeze the forest-heart stirs;Yet merry the face of the sky—Twinkling in joyIts innumerable eyes, the stars.Hushed the music within;Pleasure's silver laugh, dead;Thought lost in reverie—Reverie receding into nothing.The taper of dreams flickersOut, leaving the soul in duskBy the altar of love,Flower-laden as the night with stars.

Time has passed, sinceShadows trembled to watchTwilight sweep the earthFor the phantoms to trip and mince.

A dark breeze the forest-heart stirs;Yet merry the face of the sky—Twinkling in joyIts innumerable eyes, the stars.

Hushed the music within;Pleasure's silver laugh, dead;Thought lost in reverie—Reverie receding into nothing.

The taper of dreams flickersOut, leaving the soul in duskBy the altar of love,Flower-laden as the night with stars.

"Nothing endures," you said;"None can die," quoth love;"In the firmament of lovingNo stars set, no meteors fall."Yet, nothing endures, nothing,Naught but dust;Naught but regret and vain desireThe twin monuments of life,Reared by time, by wreckingAll that we seek and find.Its relentless waves of yearsBreak even the impregnable wall of memoryThat thought buildsOn the embankment of hope.Pass all away, even we who loved,Dreamt as none dreamt before—Borne by the tide of life—But, lo! from our defeated destinyRise our seeds reared by timeConsecrated to love and living!

"Nothing endures," you said;"None can die," quoth love;"In the firmament of lovingNo stars set, no meteors fall."

Yet, nothing endures, nothing,Naught but dust;Naught but regret and vain desireThe twin monuments of life,

Reared by time, by wreckingAll that we seek and find.Its relentless waves of yearsBreak even the impregnable wall of memoryThat thought buildsOn the embankment of hope.

Pass all away, even we who loved,Dreamt as none dreamt before—Borne by the tide of life—But, lo! from our defeated destinyRise our seeds reared by timeConsecrated to love and living!

They think thee bitter:Thou art not made o' laughterNor love's smileCan thy vision beguile:Like a black-fiery cometSuddenly, sinisterly, thou comest;Making thy fateful journey,Littering the floor of destinyWith wreckages of life,Of love, of heart—Of all visitors thou art the surest;Halting nowhere long, endlessly passest,Dragging behind thee thy train of fireThat burneth all, heedless of curse or prayer.

On thy Lotus-seat of Night,—Meditation closing thy eyes,—The Star Hosts thy awe-struck devotees:The Moon, thy halo unchanging.White-robed time telling his beadsOf aeons on the thread of EternityBy the ocean of spaceSlumbering in peace at thy feet;While Destiny stringing the lyre of deathSings Nirvana's hymn.

Ask me not to stand at thy friendship's gate—I, who loved thee, now must like a cold spectre from a far forgotten land of snowWatch thee fall asleep on the couch of freezing friendship?In these arms thou sought and joyed on many delightsExcavated the ruins of passion to build them anew,Or sailed on thy wings—these arms—over love's enchanted sea.Friendship!Barrier not this, but a coward's refuge—A shadow, not the rainbow-light of loving and life.O come, my pilot, conduct the bark of our twin soulsFrom cold friendship's havenOver love's boistrous desire-foam-fringéd oceanTill in the sheer joy and fatigue of flyingWe fail, fall and fadeInto the heart of Passion's another fire-born day.

Golden vines they,These thin lines of light,Climbing the sky-wallAfter the sun sank into sleep.Like rills, thread-like,Seen from a jutting rockWhere air is dizzyAnd fancy infinite, free.What fiery wineTingles in these vinesWeaving golden arabesquesOn the pale evening sky?Ah, the heavens this hourHave drunk of sunset's ruby WineFor those golden cobwebs to weaveTheir magic of twilight dreams.

Golden vines they,These thin lines of light,Climbing the sky-wallAfter the sun sank into sleep.

Like rills, thread-like,Seen from a jutting rockWhere air is dizzyAnd fancy infinite, free.

What fiery wineTingles in these vinesWeaving golden arabesquesOn the pale evening sky?

Ah, the heavens this hourHave drunk of sunset's ruby WineFor those golden cobwebs to weaveTheir magic of twilight dreams.

Two shadows fell, tremulous and frail,From the upland over the lake-surface pale,While the shivering reeds shook at sunset,As the swans sailed into a sea of jet.The rippling waters, and the breeze,And the shadows that fall from the trees,Mingled and melted with the twain,A song of whitewashed away by its black refrain.Only words remained, palpitating and few,Falling through the gloom and night's dewLike jewelled fancies rising out of a dreamThat live for a moment and die ere they gleam.

Two shadows fell, tremulous and frail,From the upland over the lake-surface pale,While the shivering reeds shook at sunset,As the swans sailed into a sea of jet.

The rippling waters, and the breeze,And the shadows that fall from the trees,Mingled and melted with the twain,A song of whitewashed away by its black refrain.

Only words remained, palpitating and few,Falling through the gloom and night's dewLike jewelled fancies rising out of a dreamThat live for a moment and die ere they gleam.

Tears well out from my heart,As clouds overcast my soul,And blur my vision of thee.Melancholy this dawn,When thy smile and words,And thy sky-shaming eyesAre not beside me to rouse me from sleep.Though cry I without end,Yet a thought of thee heals many wounds,Why? thou ask me; how can I tell?All thou wish to take is thine;Not even the dust of thy feet I seek,Only leave me the star of thy memoryTo bathe in the rain of my weeping.

Tears well out from my heart,As clouds overcast my soul,And blur my vision of thee.

Melancholy this dawn,When thy smile and words,And thy sky-shaming eyesAre not beside me to rouse me from sleep.

Though cry I without end,Yet a thought of thee heals many wounds,Why? thou ask me; how can I tell?

All thou wish to take is thine;Not even the dust of thy feet I seek,Only leave me the star of thy memoryTo bathe in the rain of my weeping.

At last thou comest;Thy footsteps I hear across the ages,Over wandering fancies,Through shadows of dreamsIs thy coming, Queen of queens.This shimmering summer of lifeThat thou bringest with theeAs a gift to my silent waitingIs but what I prayed to bringTo the altar of thy coming.I spread the seat of my soul,For thee to rest thy tired limbs;And wave the fan of my heartTo cool thy lotus-shaming face,Lady of light, queen of grace.Come to my bower of worship,Where burns the incense of devotion,Lay thy rose-robed bodyIn the shrine of my longing,Where love's rainbow-songs are ringing.

At last thou comest;Thy footsteps I hear across the ages,Over wandering fancies,Through shadows of dreamsIs thy coming, Queen of queens.

This shimmering summer of lifeThat thou bringest with theeAs a gift to my silent waitingIs but what I prayed to bringTo the altar of thy coming.

I spread the seat of my soul,For thee to rest thy tired limbs;And wave the fan of my heartTo cool thy lotus-shaming face,Lady of light, queen of grace.

Come to my bower of worship,Where burns the incense of devotion,Lay thy rose-robed bodyIn the shrine of my longing,Where love's rainbow-songs are ringing.

The lingering light of the sunTakes from the chalice of the valleyIts mist-perfume to wash theMoon-face with rose.In the pool at my feet the goldfishes drag their trains of brownWhich cleave it into parts that ceaselessly mingle anew.The moon, silver brightThrough thousand streams sends her lightInto the valley aswoon, listening to the harmony of night.

I have drunk your tears with insatiate lips;I have broken like a toy the heart of your life;What have I given? your last query!The cup of my heart filled I with love;The chalice of soul with the substance of my God,For thee to drink my life's first love.Thou drankest as one that comes from a desert,Thou spiltest the nectar heedless, like mad;Yet I cursed not, nor shed tears;But loved thee, longed to live for thy love.Alas! thy tears grew salt, thy love thy self's greedy grasp,—O, it is the end; let us part!The morning of indifference wings the gray sky;The bird-song of the other dawns the raven's shriek now,—Shed no more tears, I tire of my drink;Break not thy heart; thy soul? Let it be still!Beyond the gray-cloud is the land of sunrise:Let us part, dear, let us be wise.

Like interpenetrating bells of silver,The water-drops ring and meltInto new drops, like new notesFrom an untiring lyre,That in colored successionPaint our heart-beatsFrom the gold of sunrise into sunset fire;Yet, not like that, this brush of water-dropsLimns on the silver rim of JoyThe dark Butterflies of Desire.

Even in sadness thou art beside me,In gladness, none so happy as thee;I love thee;May my love kiss the feet of thy love of me.My dreams are thine, day or night,My sleep sings in silence to the nightOf thy delight;May thy heart's gifts like stars my heart's heaven bedight!Though a sigh rises in my soul this hour;Closes its petals in the west the golden day-flower;In my bowerLet thy love pour its rainbow shower.

Even in sadness thou art beside me,In gladness, none so happy as thee;I love thee;May my love kiss the feet of thy love of me.

My dreams are thine, day or night,My sleep sings in silence to the nightOf thy delight;May thy heart's gifts like stars my heart's heaven bedight!

Though a sigh rises in my soul this hour;Closes its petals in the west the golden day-flower;In my bowerLet thy love pour its rainbow shower.

By the sea of sleep walks white-robed Night;The breeze but the faint rustle of her draperyThat calls the mist-made bark of dreamFrom the cavern of the Unknown to sail to us,Laden with endless star-like fancies.And She! the magician, walks on and onOver the sapphire embankment of the skyLike a moving magnet drawing behind her a million dream-argosies.

Farewell, fairest of loves!Life's most fanciful of gifts,Joy and treasure, love and wonder,Waking's elusive reality,Dream's ever-yielding divinity.Even thou must passBeyond time's starless bar:Thy eyes, their lambent flamesShall no more illumine my night;Nor thy brow, home of many moods,Tranquil yet tormented as a sea,Shall ever wear the coronal of my kiss.Ah, kisses! blisses of fire,Passion's long lingering melodyPlayed by thy lips on mine.Even they must die—Intangible realities of rapture,Ever present wonders of desire—Now like autumn leavesFly with the west-wind of fear.No, not fear that takes thee from me,Nor love's slayer, satiety;Yet art gone; thou art going.Oh, not to crush thy heart on mine:Thy breasts made but for my hands,No more to quiver in rapture therein!Who wills this cruel decree?The warmth of thy body,The staggering storm of thy yielding,The intoxicating perfume of thy mouth:These, and many other endlessViols and lutes of passion, love, life,Delights of a thousand heavens,Who robs them of me?Fate! that fool in the court of love,Who hath no wit for laughter,Steals it all from meIn the mid-hour of life;And as it befits his mind,Scatters it all over the turbidStream of fear and lies.

All thy gifts must die,All thy thoughts must fail;Such were the decree writ by timeWith shadows on the scroll of fate.Even thy memory recedes into forgetting,Thy lustrous words star-like set,Ah, sweet! autumn's breath withers all,Even the west-wind fears to tread.All yield to the power of relentless timeThat no love nor passion can stay,Blown like dried leaves we nowOn the granite pavement of fate.No more thy lip-touch on my brow,Nor thy hands pleading caresses,Thy gifts fall and fade into nothing,Thy vision grows dim in life's sunset-west.

Drowsy the noonday air,Under the trees the still shadowLike a fugitive fragment of nightSeeks shelter from the sun.The bird has ceased singing,The beggar unable to bearThe wealth of the sunSpreads his torn garment,To find peace inThe benign shadow of sleep.Ah, lone soul like him,I spread this rag of my song.Under the tree of lifeOver which blazes the sun of fate.The calm of its shadowProtects me, but where my peace?

Drowsy the noonday air,Under the trees the still shadowLike a fugitive fragment of nightSeeks shelter from the sun.

The bird has ceased singing,The beggar unable to bearThe wealth of the sunSpreads his torn garment,

To find peace inThe benign shadow of sleep.Ah, lone soul like him,I spread this rag of my song.

Under the tree of lifeOver which blazes the sun of fate.The calm of its shadowProtects me, but where my peace?

For summers seventeenThis flower of springScattered fragranceThat dwelt in its petals seventeen.Seventeen song-hours,A heart never weary;A soul with honey of all flowersA song as enchanting as stars.A boy never grown old,A lute never tiring to sing,A mind ne'er chilledThough Hunger's hand lay cold.Steely-cold on his breast,Yet the boy sang;Loved as alone a poet canEndlessly, without rest.Just seventeen!Ne'er old, though time passes;A golden lyre-stringHas not yet ceased ringing:Rings through the heart of timeO'er the summit of deathTo the music of the NineInto the heart of Eternal Rhyme.

For summers seventeenThis flower of springScattered fragranceThat dwelt in its petals seventeen.Seventeen song-hours,A heart never weary;A soul with honey of all flowersA song as enchanting as stars.

A boy never grown old,A lute never tiring to sing,A mind ne'er chilledThough Hunger's hand lay cold.

Steely-cold on his breast,Yet the boy sang;Loved as alone a poet canEndlessly, without rest.Just seventeen!Ne'er old, though time passes;A golden lyre-stringHas not yet ceased ringing:

Rings through the heart of timeO'er the summit of deathTo the music of the NineInto the heart of Eternal Rhyme.

A summer song it was,Counting of many unseen starsIn an intangible skyMaking new milky ways—Silver-shadow-paths that leadFrom sapphire abyssesInto deeper abysses still.The deeps of our soulsLit by passion's burning flowersTremulous, timorous flames of silver,That with thousand handsOur hearts sought to pluck and scatter,Or make barbéd garlandsFor love's nuptial hour.Nuptial hour, briefer than a moment,Longer than Heaven's Eternal summer,When each flower burns to soothe,And each soothing petal burns anew;Till myriad streams of fireStrewn with countless flaming starsBear us to the far sea of TimeWhere no summer dies,Nor endure the stinging moments of love's winter.

Time's torment,Life's woes,And sorrow's wan gazeAre but shadesIn a picture of lightWhere nothing abides,All things fade.In fading there is beauty,By shedding tearsWe bathe our hearts—Those crushed flowers full of smart—For a deity not far from our souls.Yet, no solace in prayer,Pain has no largess;Dark has stars,But no barren earth its flowers.All are dismal and fallow;Yet, from the mountain's stony heartSpring multitudinous riversSparkling at dawn, andDeepening night's gloom with mysterious murmurs;And who knows?These streams that passBy the balcony of our past,Through present's wilderness,Into desolate futureMay reach the land of the farthest star.Who knows? Ah! who knows?May these song-rillsFrom my heart's little hillEmpty their singing watersInto a sea of song-makingWhere nothing enduresBut the sound and echo of singing.Where sound, and echo are one,A moonset vale of sunset land,Where light is wedded to shadeWithout death, full of dying, yet not dead.

The impenetrable dark—Darkness of cloud and nightComing on black silent wingsSurround me in their folds,As it sits by my side on the shore of time.No fear, no sorrow, no hope,Not even the footfall of a star;Dim, deep sable tonesRise from the organ of nothingWith its flats and sharps of clouds and night.Ripples of momentsWaves of hours and yearsBreak on the shore of spaceTo speak vague, soundless wordsTo my soul, alone, shade among shades.Not even the unheard whisperOf the shadow of a breeze,But silence ponderous, peaceful,Afraid of its own selfA mute hound at my feet.Who art thou?Whom do I know in this emptiness?Who has lived with me?And called me from the deeps of time?Recedes the bank of space;Fades away even the unfilled time,No light, no sound, not even a dream;Yet who speaks through silence?Who plays this music of night?Like an intangible river it flowsWith waves of shadow-soundBetween banks of mountainous silence—O, who! who are you?Light in a world of shadows,Rainbow among sunless clouds,Bark of song on this sea of silence,O ferryman of the soul!O Word on Infinite's scroll.

The impenetrable dark—Darkness of cloud and nightComing on black silent wingsSurround me in their folds,As it sits by my side on the shore of time.

No fear, no sorrow, no hope,Not even the footfall of a star;Dim, deep sable tonesRise from the organ of nothingWith its flats and sharps of clouds and night.

Ripples of momentsWaves of hours and yearsBreak on the shore of spaceTo speak vague, soundless wordsTo my soul, alone, shade among shades.

Not even the unheard whisperOf the shadow of a breeze,But silence ponderous, peaceful,Afraid of its own selfA mute hound at my feet.

Who art thou?Whom do I know in this emptiness?Who has lived with me?And called me from the deeps of time?

Recedes the bank of space;Fades away even the unfilled time,No light, no sound, not even a dream;Yet who speaks through silence?Who plays this music of night?

Like an intangible river it flowsWith waves of shadow-soundBetween banks of mountainous silence—O, who! who are you?Light in a world of shadows,Rainbow among sunless clouds,Bark of song on this sea of silence,O ferryman of the soul!O Word on Infinite's scroll.

Sleep shadows, sleep light;Sleep tune, sleep speech;Sleep night, sleep day;Sleep children in the cradle of rest.Dream stars, dream moon;Dream sea; dream O, sun;Dream rainbow, dream storm;Dream rain, O, milk from Heaven's breast.Rest ye feet, rest ye hands;Rest bleeding hours of even;Rest O, heart torn and burnt,Rest my fancies, day is done.Sleep night, sleep with star-eyes closed;Sleep sorrow in death's silent repose;Sleep O, Soul, be it twilight or morn;Sleep thou too, O, sleep, heedless of moon and sun.

Sleep shadows, sleep light;Sleep tune, sleep speech;Sleep night, sleep day;Sleep children in the cradle of rest.

Dream stars, dream moon;Dream sea; dream O, sun;Dream rainbow, dream storm;Dream rain, O, milk from Heaven's breast.

Rest ye feet, rest ye hands;Rest bleeding hours of even;Rest O, heart torn and burnt,Rest my fancies, day is done.

Sleep night, sleep with star-eyes closed;Sleep sorrow in death's silent repose;Sleep O, Soul, be it twilight or morn;Sleep thou too, O, sleep, heedless of moon and sun.

[5]Shanti is the Sanskrit for "Peace."

Page 17, lines 6 and 7 should read as follows:

Yet its mighty thrallHolds me, haunts me

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