Last Poems Part 9

"Surface Rights"

Drifting, drifting down the River, Tawny current and foam-flecked tide, Sorrowful songs of lonely boatmen, Mournful forests on either side.

Thine are the outcrops' glittering blocks, The quartz where the rich pyrites gleam, The golden treasure of unhewn rocks And the loose gold in the stream.

But,--the dim vast forests along the sh.o.r.e, That whisper wonderful things o' nights,-- These are things that I value more, My beautiful "surface rights."

Drifting, drifting down the River,-- Stars a-tremble about the sky-- Ah, my lover, my heart is breaking, Breaking, breaking, I know not why.

Why is Love such a sorrowful thing?

This I never could understand; Pain and pa.s.sion are linked together, Ever I find them hand in hand.

Loose thy hair in its soft profusion, Let thy lashes caress thy cheek,-- These are the things that express thy spirit, What is the need to explain or speak?

Drifting, drifting along the River, Under the light of a wan low moon, Steady, the paddles; Boatmen, steady,-- Why should we reach the sea so soon?

See where the low spit cuts the water, What is that misty wavering light?

Only the pale datura flowers Blossoming through the silent night.

What is the fragrance in thy tresses?

'T is the scent of the champa's breath; The meaning of champa bloom is pa.s.sion-- And of datura--death!

Sweet are thy ways and thy strange caresses, That sear as flame, and exult as wine.

But I care only for that wild moment When my soul arises and reaches thine.

Wistful voices of wild birds calling-- Far, faint lightning towards the West,-- Twinkling lights of a Tyah homestead,-- Ruddy glow on a girl's bare breast--

Drifting boats on a mournful River, Shifting thoughts in a dreaming mind,-- We two, seeking the Sea, together,-- When we reach it,--what shall we find?

Shivratri (the Night of Shiva)

(While the procession pa.s.sed at Ramesram)

Nearer and nearer cometh the car Where the Golden G.o.ddess towers, Sweeter and sweeter grows the air From a thousand trampled flowers.

We two rest in the Temple shade Safe from the pilgrim flood, This path of the G.o.ds in olden days Ran royally red with blood.

Louder and louder and louder yet Throbs the sorrowful drum-- That is the tortured world's despair, Never a moment dumb.

Shriller and shriller shriek the flutes, Nature's pa.s.sionate need-- Paler and paler grow my lips, And still thou bid'st them bleed.

Deeper and deeper and deeper still, Never a pause for pain-- Darker and darker falls the night That golden torches stain.

Closer, ah! closer, and still more close, Till thy soul reach my soul-- Further, further, out on the tide From the sh.o.r.es of self-control.

Glowing, glowing, to whitest heat, Thy feverish pa.s.sions burn, Fiercer and fiercer, cruelly fierce, To thee my senses yearn.

Fainter and fainter runs my blood With desperate fight for breath-- This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love, Or I should have deemed it Death!

The First Wife

Ah, my lord, are the tidings true, That thy mother's jewels are shapen anew?

I hear that a bride has chosen been, The stars consulted, the parents seen.

Had I been childless, had never there smiled The brilliant eyes from the face of a child,

Then at least I had understood This thing they tell me thou findest good.

But I have been down to the River of Death, With painful footsteps and shuddering breath,

Seven times; thou hast daughters three, And four young sons who are fair as thee.

I am not unlovely, over my head Not twenty summers as yet have sped.

'T is eleven years since my opening life Was given to thee by my father's wife.

Ah, those days--They were lovely to me, When little and shy I waited for thee.

Till I locked my arms round my lover above, A child in form but a woman in love.

And I bore thy sons, as a woman should, Year by year, as is meet and good.

Thy mother was ever content with me-- And Oh, Beloved, I worshipped thee!

And now it's over; alas, my lord, Better I felt thy sharpest sword.

I hear she is youthful and fair as I When I came to thee in the days gone by.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are firmer; this bosom slips Somewhat, weighted by children's lips.

But they were thy children. Oh, lord my king, Ah, why hast thy heart devised this thing ?

I am not as the women of this thy land, Meek and timid, broken to hand.

From the distant North I was given to thee, Whose daughters are pa.s.sionate, fierce and free,

I could not dwell by a rival's side, I seek a bridegroom, as thou a bride.

The night she yieldeth her youth to thee, Death shall take his pleasure in me.

I Arise and go Down to the River

I arise and go down to the River, and currents that come from the sea, Still fresh with the salt of the ocean, are lovely and precious to me, The waters are silver and silent, except where the kingfisher dips, Or the ripples wash off from my shoulder the reddening stain of thy lips.

Two things make my joy at this moment: thy gold-coloured beauty by night, And the delicate charm of the River, all pale in the day-breaking light, So cool are the waters' caresses. Ah, which is the lovelier,--this?