As in the gardens, all through May, the rose,

Lovely, and young, and fair apparelled,

Makes sunrise jealous of her rosy red,

When dawn upon the dew of dawning glows;

Graces and Loves within her breast repose,

The woods are faint with the sweet odour shed,

Till rains and heavy suns have smitten dead

The languid flower, and the loose leaves unclose, -



So this, the perfect beauty of our days,

When earth and heaven were vocal of her praise,

The fates have slain, and her sweet soul reposes;

Lady, whom my belovèd loves so well!
When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth,
When on thy lips his ardent kisses dwell,
And the bright flood of burning light, that shineth
In his dark eyes, is pourèd into thine;
When thou shalt lie enfolded to his heart,
In all the trusting helplessness of love;
If in such joy sorrow can find a part,
Oh, give one sigh unto a doom like mine!
Which I would have thee pity, but not prove.
One cold, calm, careless, wintry look that fell
Haply by chance on me, is all that he

She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the color of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky

She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say

Fair Lady Kathleen in her tower
Bowed her head like a wounded flower;
She wept the weary night away
'Here I spin for a year and a day,
But 'tis for love's sweet sake,' she said,
'My heart must break and I were dead.
The nettle I've pulled when the moon was bright
And brought it home in the dark of night—
I've trod it soft 'neath my naked feet
To make a cloak for thy rescue, sweet!'
The Lady Kathleen wept full sore
'Oh, misery mine for a year and more!'

Day after day, and a promised spring
Bloomed into a summer of blossoming.

My love lay there,
In the shadow of my hair,
As my glossy raven tresses downard flow;
And dark as midnight’s cloud,
The fell o’er him like a shroud:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?

With a comb of gold each night
I combed my tresses bright;
But the sportive zephyr tossed them to and fro;
So I pressed them in a heap,
For my love whereon to sleep:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?
He said he loved to gaze
On my tresses’ flowing maze,
And the midnight of my dark Moorish eyes;
And he vowed ’twould give him pain

'Whose heart was breaking for a little love.'

Downstairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all;
But in my solitary room above
I turn my face in silence to the wall;
My heart is breaking for a little love.
Though winter frosts are done,
And birds pair every one,
And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun.

I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown,
I find no nest, while nests are in the grove:
Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone,
My heart that breaketh for a little love.
While golden in the sun

Your body is my prison, Krishna,
I cannot see beyond it.
Your darkness blinds me,
Your love words shut out the wise world's din.

[From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing]

Knowing nothing shuts the iron gates;
the new love opens them.

The sound of the gates opening wakes
the beautiful woman asleep.

Kabir says: Fantastic!
Don't let a chance like this go by!

My love and I for kisses play'd,
Shee would keepe stake, I was content,
But when I wonne shee would be paid;
This made mee aske her what she meant.
Pray, since I see (quoth shee) your wrangling vayne,
Take your owne kisses, give me myne againe.

Love came to her unsought,
Love served her many ways,
And patiently Love followed her
Throughout the nights and days.

Love spent his life for her
And hid his tears and sighs;
He bartered all his soul for her,
With tender pleading eyes.

Her scarlet mouth that smiled,
Mocked lightly at his woe,
And while she would not bid him stay
She did not bid him go.

But hope within him failed
Until he pled no more--
And cold and still he turned his face
Away from her heart's door.

* * * * *