ages: but alas and alas again, that those Malwa girls have followed them!
To what heaven, I wonder, have they carried in their flower-baskets those days that tingled to the lyrics of the king's poet?
This morning, separation from those whom I was born too late to meet weighs on and saddens my heart.
Yet April carries the same flowers with which they decked their hair, and the same south breeze fluttered their veils as whispers over modern roses.
And, to tell the truth, joys are not lacking to this spring, though Kalidas sing no more; and I know, if he can watch me from the Poets' Paradise, he has reasons to be envious.
10
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: leave it in the dark.
What if her beauty be of the figure and her smile merely of the face? Let me take without question the simple meaning of her glances and be happy.
I care not if it be a web of delusion that her arms wind about me, for the web itself is rich and rare, and the deceit can be smiled at and forgotten.
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: be content if the music is true, though the words are not to be believed; enjoy the grace that dances like a lily on the rippling, deceiving surface, whatever may lie beneath.
11
Neither mother nor daughter are you, nor bride, Urvashi.1 Woman you are, to ravish the soul of Paradise.
When weary-footed evening comes down to the folds whither the cattle have returned, you never trim the house lamps nor walk to the bridal bed with a tremulous heart and a wavering smile on your lips, glad that the dark hours are so secret.
Like the dawn you are without veil, Urvashi, and without shame.
Who can imagine that aching overflow of splendour which created you!
You rose from the churned ocean on the first day of the first spring, with the cup of life in your right hand and poison in your left. The monster sea, lulled like an enchanted snake, laid down its thousand hoods at your feet.
Your unblemished radiance rose from the foam, white and naked as a jasmine.
Were you ever small, timid or in bud, Urvashi, O Youth everlasting?
Did you sleep, cradled in the deep blue night where the strange light of gems plays over coral, shells and moving creatures of dreamlike form, till day revealed your awful fulness of bloom?
Adored are you of all men in all ages, Urvashi, O endless wonder!
The world throbs with youthful pain at the glance of your eyes, the ascetic lays the fruit of his austerities at your feet, the songs of poets hum and swarm round the perfume of your presence. Your feet, as in careless joy they flit on, wound even the heart of the hollow wind with the tinkle of golden bells.
When you dance before the gods, flinging orbits of novel rhythm into space, Urvashi, the earth shivers, leaf and grass, and autumn fields heave and sway; the sea surges into a frenzy of rhyming waves; the stars drop into the sky—beads from the chain that leaps till it breaks on your breast; and the blood dances in men's hearts with sudden turmoil.
You are the first break on the crest of heaven's slumber, Urvashi, you thrill the air with unrest. The world bathes your limbs in her tears; with colour of her heart's blood are your feet red; lightly you poise on the wave-tossed lotus of desire, Urvashi; you play forever in that limitless mind wherein labours God's tumultuous dream.
12
You, like a rivulet swift and sinuous, laugh and dance, and your steps sing as you trip along.
I, like a bank rugged and steep, stand speechless and stock-still and darkly gaze at you.
I, like a big, foolish storm, of a sudden come rushing on and try to rend my being and scatter it parcelled in a whirl of passion.
You, like the lightning's flash slender and keen, pierce the heart of the turbulent darkness, to disappear in a vivid streak of laughter.
13
You desired my love and yet you did not love me.
Therefore my life clings to you like a chain of which clank and grip grow harsher the more you struggle to be free.
My despair has become your deadly companion, clutching at the faintest of your favours, trying to drag you away into the cavern of tears.
You have shattered my freedom, and with its wreck built your own prison.
14
I am glad you will not wait for me with that lingering pity in your look.
It is only the spell of the night and my farewell words, startled at their own tune of despair, which bring these tears to my eyes. But day will dawn, my eyes will dry and my heart; and there will be no time for weeping.
Who says it is hard to forget?
The mercy of death works at life's core, bringing it respite from its own foolish persistence.
The stormy sea is lulled at last in its rocking cradle; the forest fire falls to sleep on its bed of ashes.
You and I shall part, and the cleavage will be hidden under living grass and flowers that laugh in the sun.
15
Of all days you have chosen this one to visit my garden.
But the storm passed over my roses last night and the grass is strewn with torn leaves.
I do not know what has brought you, now that the hedges are laid low and rills run in the walks; the prodigal wealth of spring is scattered and the scent and song of yesterday are wrecked.
Yet stay a while; let me find some remnant flowers, though I doubt if your skirt can be filled.
The time will be short, for the clouds thicken and here comes the rain again!
16
I forgot myself for a moment, and I came.
But raise your eyes, and let me know if there still linger some shadow of other days, like a pale cloud on the horizon that has been robbed of its rain.
For a moment bear with me if I forget myself.
The roses are still in bud; they do not yet know how we neglect to gather flowers this summer.
The morning star has the same palpitating hush; the early light is enmeshed in the branches that overbrow your window, as in those other days.
That times are changed I forget for a little, and have come.
I forget if you ever shamed me by looking away when I bared my heart.
I only remember the words that stranded on the tremor
