This dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove,
Where Ravee stream winds sunward from Cashmere;
By nimble gold 'twas borne around the sphere
For one who gave it me in friendly love.
To rival nature's hues the weaver strove,
For beauty's sake and not barbaric show;
Behold, commingled here, elusive glow
The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove.
This silk-soft web was never merchandise;
A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare,—
A sumptuous robe that Majesty would prize,
And India's British Empress well might wear;

When on the altar of my hand,
Bedew'd with many a kiss and tear,
Thy now revolted heart did stand
An humble martyr, thou didst swear
Thus (and the god of love did hear):
“By those bright glances of thine eye,
Unless thou pity me, I die.”

When first those perjured lips of thine,
Be-paled with blasting sighs, did seal
Their violated faith on mine,
From the soft bosom that did heal
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal:
My soul, inflamed with thy false breath,
Poison'd with kisses, suck'd in death.

Yet I nor hand nor lip will move,

If one would make a bid for love.
Let him renounce his heart's desire and offer his head a sacrifice.
Let him desert the way of actions, and seek to know his self's true state.
Ever before him is Love's cup, joyfully he tastes' its sweetness.
The soul in Hari, He in the soul. He it is who speaks this word.
He is in all, we all in Him: but few are they who understand it.
That Jiva's state, who is wholly true, who can know?
Gulal declares them united with the Name: this let none forget.

Give place all ye that doth rejoice,
And love's pangs hath clean forgot.
Let them draw near and hear my voice
Whom Love doth force in pains to fret,
For all of plaint my song is set,
Which long hath served and nought can get.

A faithful heart so truly meant
Rewarded is full slenderly;
A steadfast faith with good intent
Is recompensèd craftily;
Such hap doth hap unhappily
To them that mean but honestly.

With humble suit I have assay'd
To turn her cruel-hearted mind,
But for reward I am delay'd,
And to my wealth her eyes be blind.

A face devoid of love or grace,
A hateful, hard, successful face,
A face with which a stone
Would feel as thoroughly at ease
As were they old acquaintances,—
First time together thrown.

Strange part hath Woman with the flowers and streams
And all wild wayward elemental things.
O wingless man, thy partner hath bright wings
O'er which the sunset plays, the rainbow gleams!
The golden morn amid her tresses dreams:
Straight to her heart the tender snowdrop springs.
A message from the Unknown Love she brings:
Mingled with scents of fairy-land she seems.

The Soul that, ever-struggling, ever-chaste,
Toils to be with us in these latter days,
Through Woman its untold desire conveys
And hints sublime of what may one day be

O PATIENT God, whom men forsake,
All-kind, all-gracious as Thou art,
How soon our faithlessness would break
A human heart!

How vast must be the Love so strong,
Its yearning, oh, how fathomless,
That sin prolonged should yet prolong
Thy tenderness!

Though we may slight that Love with doubt,
Thy paths of sweet commandment spurn,
Thou wilt in no wise cast him out
Who would return!

The uttermost Thy Love doth reach;
And oh the pathos of its cry
All humbled to our human speech,—
“Why will ye die?”

If thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then sleep, dear, sleep;
And not a sorrow
Hang any tear on your eyelashes;
Lie still and deep,
Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes
The rim o' the sun to-morrow,
In eastern sky.

But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then die, dear, die;
'Tis deeper, sweeter,
Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming
With folded eye;
And then alone, amid the beaming
Of love's stars, thou'lt meet her
In eastern sky.

Bereft of their love,
Huang and Yin, the royal ladies of old,
Ranged the banks of Hsiao and Hsiang, south of Tungting.
They wandered by the fathomless waters of the deep.
All the world tells the tale of their misery.

Dark is the day, and dismal the clouds;
Demons howl in the fog and infernal spirits whistle in the rain.
Ah, me! What would it avail me if I dared to speak?
High heaven shines not, I fear, on the loyalty of my heart.
Clouds gather clouds,—they would roar aloud in anger.
Even Yao and Shun ruling, the scepter would pass to Yui.

Though I ought to love the moonlight
I fear the harsh cold of the night air.
I call a maid, have all the windows shut:
flowers in the vase suddenly fragrant.