The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSandhyaThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: SandhyaSongs of twilightAuthor: Dhan Gopal MukerjiRelease date: October 2, 2007 [eBook #22848]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANDHYA ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: SandhyaSongs of twilightAuthor: Dhan Gopal MukerjiRelease date: October 2, 2007 [eBook #22848]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Title: Sandhya
Songs of twilight
Author: Dhan Gopal Mukerji
Author: Dhan Gopal Mukerji
Release date: October 2, 2007 [eBook #22848]
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANDHYA ***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Sankar Viswanathan,and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team(http://www.pgdp.net)
Seal
Like "Rajani" [perhaps more than], "Sandhya" is a slender rill that has drawn its music from my Bengali which has told upon its English structure. This and many other faults of these poems are due to their unyielding adherence to spontaneity.
"Sandhya" came then, as "Rajani" in its own way through the bed of my Bengali reflecting its sound and sense, and trying to echo back its music that descends on all with the fading twilight.
Dhan Gopal Mukerji.
N. B.—Since some of these poems were born without, and defy titles, I have refrained from forcing any on them.
Tongueless the bell!Lute without a song!It is not nightIt is God's dawn,Silence its unending song.Over heart's valley,In the soul's night,Through pain's windowBehold! His light!On Life's Height.No prayer, now,Though death-waves roll,Faith's candle lit,Beside it sits the soulReading Eternity's scroll.
Tongueless the bell!Lute without a song!It is not nightIt is God's dawn,Silence its unending song.
Over heart's valley,In the soul's night,Through pain's windowBehold! His light!On Life's Height.
No prayer, now,Though death-waves roll,Faith's candle lit,Beside it sits the soulReading Eternity's scroll.
A bruised heart,A wounded soul,A broken lute,That is all!A sad evening,And a lone star,Then song reddens—Sets life's forest afire!
A bruised heart,A wounded soul,
A broken lute,That is all!
A sad evening,And a lone star,
Then song reddens—Sets life's forest afire!
With purple shadows the mist measures the infinite seaThat spreads her wave-raiment in lavender, violet, gray, and green;While with thin silver rays a lone star seeks to sound the deeps.The breeze-wings tire of flight;The mist-threads weave a rose-fringed dusky draperyTo cover the bare breasts of the dunes from the moon's langour-heavy eyes.The shadows die in purple silence;Fades the one star from the sky,As the dark mist puts out the rose-red moon from its deep.Pale gleams the lighthouse light;No warring waves break the peace of sleep tonightNor a hungry wind shrieks in pain from the lea.Under her heavy veil of blackA languid sea sluggishly flowsTo some far land of forsaken dreams.
With purple shadows the mist measures the infinite seaThat spreads her wave-raiment in lavender, violet, gray, and green;While with thin silver rays a lone star seeks to sound the deeps.
The breeze-wings tire of flight;The mist-threads weave a rose-fringed dusky draperyTo cover the bare breasts of the dunes from the moon's langour-heavy eyes.
The shadows die in purple silence;Fades the one star from the sky,As the dark mist puts out the rose-red moon from its deep.
Pale gleams the lighthouse light;No warring waves break the peace of sleep tonightNor a hungry wind shrieks in pain from the lea.
Under her heavy veil of blackA languid sea sluggishly flowsTo some far land of forsaken dreams.
Who are you?Why make me waitFrom the hour of dewTill another sunset?Why do I lookFor your coming?Listen to the weeping brookThat might bringTo my lonely shoreA word from you.Ah, nothing! not a leaf's tremor!O, old! O, longed for new!Who are you? I ask;Know not why I seekFrom day to duskWithout waking or sleep,—No sleep! no waking!A dreaming, a longing;Not knowing, yet seeking,For your coming waiting—O, spring-born!O, autumn-clad!O, soul's new morn!O, old! O, glad!So glad, so young!O, unseen, unknown,O, fugitive vision!O, eternal moanIn my heart—O, tearful Soul of laughter,Untouched, unhurt,O, sweet! O, bitter!My born yet unborn,Shadow not fallenO, undawning morn—O, message unbroken.Why, how, when?I wait, wait for you,O embrace of earth and heaven;O, Old! O, New!
Who are you?Why make me waitFrom the hour of dewTill another sunset?Why do I lookFor your coming?Listen to the weeping brookThat might bringTo my lonely shoreA word from you.Ah, nothing! not a leaf's tremor!O, old! O, longed for new!Who are you? I ask;Know not why I seekFrom day to duskWithout waking or sleep,—No sleep! no waking!A dreaming, a longing;Not knowing, yet seeking,For your coming waiting—O, spring-born!O, autumn-clad!O, soul's new morn!O, old! O, glad!So glad, so young!O, unseen, unknown,O, fugitive vision!O, eternal moanIn my heart—
O, tearful Soul of laughter,Untouched, unhurt,O, sweet! O, bitter!My born yet unborn,Shadow not fallenO, undawning morn—O, message unbroken.Why, how, when?I wait, wait for you,O embrace of earth and heaven;O, Old! O, New!
[1]"O, Old! O, New!" is the cry of a "Poáti,"e. g., a mother's cry to her unborn child. "Poáti" has no precise English synonym.
[1]"O, Old! O, New!" is the cry of a "Poáti,"e. g., a mother's cry to her unborn child. "Poáti" has no precise English synonym.
The far away called her—A pilgrim on the hope-lit bark of youth,A woman, a child, a soulOn an argosy for the lands of south.It called her in her dreams;Her waking into a deeper dream grew;The flute of the distantPlayed ceaselessly the music of the new.With words of fire it called her,Beyond the bourne of her daysTo a silent sea of joyWashed by unending twilight-rays.It called her at dawnWhen night shed the star-jewels from her hair;It called her at sunsetWhen the moon mutely ascended the heaven's stair.It called her without ceasing—Hour after hour but a calling,Till "Come, come, come!"At her soul's door kept repeating:Come, come, come!—inHer word, her music, her song;Far away, near, far againHeedless of nightfall and dawn.It called, it cried, it prayed,Till She, the deity, made answerThrough youth, through age, through deathTo her own far away's receding star.
The far away called her—A pilgrim on the hope-lit bark of youth,A woman, a child, a soulOn an argosy for the lands of south.
It called her in her dreams;Her waking into a deeper dream grew;The flute of the distantPlayed ceaselessly the music of the new.
With words of fire it called her,Beyond the bourne of her daysTo a silent sea of joyWashed by unending twilight-rays.
It called her at dawnWhen night shed the star-jewels from her hair;It called her at sunsetWhen the moon mutely ascended the heaven's stair.
It called her without ceasing—Hour after hour but a calling,Till "Come, come, come!"At her soul's door kept repeating:
Come, come, come!—inHer word, her music, her song;Far away, near, far againHeedless of nightfall and dawn.
It called, it cried, it prayed,Till She, the deity, made answerThrough youth, through age, through deathTo her own far away's receding star.
Ah! to be able to sing,To sorrow in melody;To string with silverSorrow's dark harp!Or, mount every thornCrowning life's browWith lustrous stars—Those tears of the sky.Rolling down its faceWhen night's hand putsDarkness's crown on its headAs twilight dies.None of these, for my soul;Only to weep is given to me,To nourish my heart's cropFor the scythe of barrenness to reap.
Ah! to be able to sing,To sorrow in melody;To string with silverSorrow's dark harp!
Or, mount every thornCrowning life's browWith lustrous stars—Those tears of the sky.
Rolling down its faceWhen night's hand putsDarkness's crown on its headAs twilight dies.
None of these, for my soul;Only to weep is given to me,To nourish my heart's cropFor the scythe of barrenness to reap.
Ah! pale cool lips that burn,Body that yields, though unyielding,Oh, moon with the heat of the sun!Flashing out a million lightsTo cleave into nothing the endless firmament of my being.Take all; my soul's mistress! heart's queen,The flaming fancies of my dream-tortured nightThe intoxicating fruits of my day dream,The fiery lotus of my senses' delightThat rises from the abyss of my life.The abysmal heaven of love and livingNow bruised, burnt, torn and thrownTo the winds of thy ravishing rejoicingWhose inarticulate words of delight and moanMake the ever-yielding music of my soul.
Ah! pale cool lips that burn,Body that yields, though unyielding,Oh, moon with the heat of the sun!Flashing out a million lightsTo cleave into nothing the endless firmament of my being.Take all; my soul's mistress! heart's queen,The flaming fancies of my dream-tortured nightThe intoxicating fruits of my day dream,The fiery lotus of my senses' delightThat rises from the abyss of my life.The abysmal heaven of love and livingNow bruised, burnt, torn and thrownTo the winds of thy ravishing rejoicingWhose inarticulate words of delight and moanMake the ever-yielding music of my soul.
In the star-blurred hours of the nightWhen the cloud-dams stay the flow of winds,Not even the shadow of a meteor moves,As in the watch-tower of love I sit;Through the casement of hope look for thy comingAlong the moss-grown path of stones—Those agonies that time has built on my soul—By the unfathomable lake of my tearsShed when even prayers had failedTo bring thy returning.Come, destroyer of my peace and sleep,Plunderer of lights of my days!Enigma on the scroll of my fateBefore the lightnings fired my towerAnd thunders crashed in my life's sky.Only send the echo of thy footfalls—The ring of thy song,And a star—reflection of thy smile—Those million suns in the firmament of my dawn.
In the star-blurred hours of the nightWhen the cloud-dams stay the flow of winds,Not even the shadow of a meteor moves,As in the watch-tower of love I sit;Through the casement of hope look for thy comingAlong the moss-grown path of stones—Those agonies that time has built on my soul—By the unfathomable lake of my tearsShed when even prayers had failedTo bring thy returning.Come, destroyer of my peace and sleep,Plunderer of lights of my days!Enigma on the scroll of my fateBefore the lightnings fired my towerAnd thunders crashed in my life's sky.Only send the echo of thy footfalls—The ring of thy song,And a star—reflection of thy smile—Those million suns in the firmament of my dawn.
In the forest of my being the voice of your lute;In the depth of my heart the pearl of your tear;In the temple of my soul chimes the bell of your love.The fire of dawn, shadow of eve,Life's sorrow, and death's mute-enchanting peaceSteal away silently, fearfully, at thy flute's music.O, frail, faint call which I seek to echo!O, breath of love laden with the aroma of my soul!Why seek I ever without, O guest at my door?
In the forest of my being the voice of your lute;In the depth of my heart the pearl of your tear;In the temple of my soul chimes the bell of your love.
The fire of dawn, shadow of eve,Life's sorrow, and death's mute-enchanting peaceSteal away silently, fearfully, at thy flute's music.
O, frail, faint call which I seek to echo!O, breath of love laden with the aroma of my soul!Why seek I ever without, O guest at my door?
A soft light mantle of rose wear the brown hillsAs they look down on the valley where the rillsSpin their long silver embroideriesFor the fringe of spring's greenéd draperies.The cloud-banks recede with the fading breeze,The warblers fall into silence in the treesTo listen to many-colored dream-melodiesThat the mute stars make on sleep's endless seas.The last light flickers out of the sky,Shadows with golden feet o'er the green valley hie;The silver rills trill like warblers from earth's deepsAs the moon, the sun of another dawn, heavenward leaps.
A soft light mantle of rose wear the brown hillsAs they look down on the valley where the rillsSpin their long silver embroideriesFor the fringe of spring's greenéd draperies.
The cloud-banks recede with the fading breeze,The warblers fall into silence in the treesTo listen to many-colored dream-melodiesThat the mute stars make on sleep's endless seas.
The last light flickers out of the sky,Shadows with golden feet o'er the green valley hie;The silver rills trill like warblers from earth's deepsAs the moon, the sun of another dawn, heavenward leaps.
The moon rises and washes the brine with silver;The dunes like white elephants restfully asleep after the chase;And the fog comes to bring the moon its veil of shades.The waves stretch their phosphorescent armsTo embrace the night,The wind like a wounded gull beats its wingsOver the land, over the sea, into the fog-vested intangibility.Like a thousand trumpets the breakersProclaim the empiry of night,The rocky caverns send back echoesLike homage from vassals near and far;A faint cry seemeth to flash like lightning;Through the clouds of the roar of waves:It is not from the rocks, nor from the sea;Ah! it is the prayer of a mightier ocean—Humanity!
The moon rises and washes the brine with silver;The dunes like white elephants restfully asleep after the chase;And the fog comes to bring the moon its veil of shades.The waves stretch their phosphorescent armsTo embrace the night,The wind like a wounded gull beats its wingsOver the land, over the sea, into the fog-vested intangibility.
Like a thousand trumpets the breakersProclaim the empiry of night,The rocky caverns send back echoesLike homage from vassals near and far;A faint cry seemeth to flash like lightning;Through the clouds of the roar of waves:It is not from the rocks, nor from the sea;Ah! it is the prayer of a mightier ocean—Humanity!
The same air that you breatheIs the air that caresses my sky;The sunlight that lingers on your hair and lipsSets fire to the pathway of my life;And the call of nature's numberless birdsBut reflects in world's mirror the music of our heart's singing—Melody made of sweet agonies,Exquisite joys poured from pitchers of pain,As this summer's heatFrom the ever-burning heart of heaven.Not heaven alone;The earth, the air, flowers, and leavesFilled with passion that knows no slaking,Yet tranquil like sleep's dream-billowed sea.More than dream-billowed sea this love that I bring,Its boistrous waves seek the firmament of your yielding;While your heart-beats' arrows seek to slay my heart a'beating,As I inhale the fragrance of your breath and hair;And pour the perfume of my soulOn your sun-bathed feet.
The same air that you breatheIs the air that caresses my sky;The sunlight that lingers on your hair and lipsSets fire to the pathway of my life;And the call of nature's numberless birdsBut reflects in world's mirror the music of our heart's singing—Melody made of sweet agonies,Exquisite joys poured from pitchers of pain,As this summer's heatFrom the ever-burning heart of heaven.Not heaven alone;The earth, the air, flowers, and leavesFilled with passion that knows no slaking,Yet tranquil like sleep's dream-billowed sea.More than dream-billowed sea this love that I bring,Its boistrous waves seek the firmament of your yielding;While your heart-beats' arrows seek to slay my heart a'beating,As I inhale the fragrance of your breath and hair;And pour the perfume of my soulOn your sun-bathed feet.
Why this return?Why this sunlightWhen all seemed without sun?Whence this call?I cannot tell,Yet its mighty thralls.Hold me, haunt meHour after hour,With its name of thee.All seems ended,The last light lostIn the house of the dead.Yet with time's tideRises thy face,My heart, my soul, my bride.Though poureth the rain,And sorrow clouds my sky,Yet not mine the pain.What I hearI can not tell,And what I fear,Will not endure:But thou returnest,O serene, O silent, O pure!
Why this return?Why this sunlightWhen all seemed without sun?
Whence this call?I cannot tell,Yet its mighty thralls.
Hold me, haunt meHour after hour,With its name of thee.
All seems ended,The last light lostIn the house of the dead.
Yet with time's tideRises thy face,My heart, my soul, my bride.
Though poureth the rain,And sorrow clouds my sky,Yet not mine the pain.
What I hearI can not tell,And what I fear,
Will not endure:But thou returnest,O serene, O silent, O pure!
By the verge of the woodland,Where purling brooks loosen their brown tresses,Where the music of the breezeIs played on viols of the vines and trees,Thy soft words I hearLike songs from enchantment's strings.Ah, vanishing moments of ecstacy!Far-fleeing only to be nearer to my soul,Rest, rest awhile on the hillside of my echoing!Pour on it the sweet rain of thy words' melodyTill they mingle and drown my tearsInto thy kisses' passion-swept sea.
By the verge of the woodland,Where purling brooks loosen their brown tresses,Where the music of the breezeIs played on viols of the vines and trees,Thy soft words I hearLike songs from enchantment's strings.Ah, vanishing moments of ecstacy!Far-fleeing only to be nearer to my soul,Rest, rest awhile on the hillside of my echoing!Pour on it the sweet rain of thy words' melodyTill they mingle and drown my tearsInto thy kisses' passion-swept sea.