While yet a childAnd ignorant of life,I turned my wandering gazeUp tow'rd the sun, as if with himThere were an ear to hear my wailings,A heart, like mine,To feel compassion for distress.
All choice morsels I'd dispense with,Table-flesh of priests neglect too,Sooner than renounce my lover,Whom, in Summer having vanquish'd,I in Winter tamed still longer.
HERE in silence the lover fondly mused on his loved one;
Sweet love, mistake not what I utter now!Who knows His name?Who dares proclaim:--Him I believe?Who so can feelHis heart to steelTo sari believe Him not?The All-Embracer,The All-Sustained,Holds and sustains He notThee, me, Himself?
Dost thou none but Brahmins own?Do but Rajahs come from thee?
There stood the aged reveller,
So with contests, strivings, triumphs,Flying now, and now returning,Is an artful net soon woven,In its whiteness like the snow-flakes,That, from light amid the darkness,Draw their streaky lines so varied,As e'en colours scarce can draw them.
Gave me a blest, a rapture-fraught emotion,As though from death a living fount were springing.
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