**1
*স্ফুলিঙ্গ-সংযোজন
*১২৯
হেথায় আকাশ সাগর ধরণী
কহিছে প্রাণের ভাষা
এইখানে এসে হৃদয় আমার
পেয়েছে আপন বাসা।
লভেছি গভীর শান্তি,
দেখেছি অমৃত কান্তি,
দুদিনে পেয়েছি চিরদিবসের
বন্ধুর ভালবাসা।
রবি যায় পশ্চিমের সমুদ্রের পার
পূর্ব্ব দিগন্তের পানে রাখি নমস্কার।।
**2
*Lover’s Gift
*31
From Satyendra Dutt’s Harvest of Flowers.
A posy
My flowers were like milk and honey and wine.
I bound tehm into a posy with a golden ribbon.
But they escaped my watchful <eyes> {care} and <fled> {ran} away,
∟riding upon their dropped petals, and only the <+++> ribbon remains.
My songs were like milk and honey and wine.
They were held in the rhythm of my beating heart.
But who could keep them captive, the darlings of the moments!
They spread their wings and fled <across> {away} to the unnamed shore leaving my <{lone}> heart beating in silence.
The beauty I loved was like milk and honey and wine, her lips red as the dawn, her eyes black as the bee.
I kept my heart silent lest my voice {should} startle<d> her.
But she eluded me like a flower, like a song, and my love remains alone
**3
*Lover’s Gift
*53
Champa
I opened my bud when April breathed her last and <cruel> summer <brought the> {scorched} with <his> kisses the unwilling earth.
I came half afraid and half curious like a mischievous imp, peeping at a hermit’s cell.
<There was <a> {A}> {I heard the} frightened whispers <in> of the despoiled woodland <sprea> in the leaves around me,
and the cuckoo gave voice to the weary unrest of the <hot> south wind.
Through the {fluttering} curtain of my birth chamber I saw the world grim, grey and haggard.
Yet boldly I came out, strong with the faith of youth,
quaffed the fiery wine from the glowing beaker of the sky,
and proudly saluted the morning light, I the champa flower,
<When> who carry the perfume of the sun in <her> {my} heart.
**4
*?
Rabeendra Beekshaa, Vol 29
From Madhusudan Datta
Like a pair of doves, nestling in the leafy seclusion of an <sky> ancient tree, the lord of the forest, we dwelt in the depth of the Panchabati grove, whose peaceful solitude was like a shadow of paradise thrown upon the earth. Lakshman, full of watchful wisdom, <was always ready to serve us with fruits and flowers,> {and ready service,} gather<ing>{ed} <them> {fruits and flowers} from the ever-renewing stores of the forest. My lord would go out hunting, though with merciful reluctance, for his heart, as is known to the world, is full of compassion for all living creatures.
I forgot the pleasures of my past life, forgot that I was a king’s daughter, wedded to the royal house of Raghu; I lost my heart to the simple joys of the wilderness. Oh the crowding of flowers round my cottage and the burst of bird songs waking me from my sleep in the crimsoning dusk of the dawn. The gorgeous peacock with <her> his mate, happy in the pride of her lord, beguiled my idle hours with their dances. I tended <+++> my daily guests before my door, the <+++> elephants, the spotted deer, and my winged friends of all the colours of the sunlit clouds, feeding them, as a flood, born of a rainstorm in some far away hills, feeds the sudden sprouts of eager vegetation along its path.
**5
I decked my hair with lotus buds by the limpid deep of the lake, which was my mirror. I twined garlands of {wild} flowers round my neck and arms till my lord {would} smile<d> and call<ed> me the <Spirit> {Fairy} of the <woodland> {flowerland}. O my friend, will the day ever come again when these eyes of mine will see his face, the {one} lotus of loveliness floating <+++> on my dream?
*?
*Rabeendra Beekshaa, Vol 29
চতুর্দ্দশপদী হইতে
পরিচয় (১১)
The land, where the sun’s early kiss to the dewy lips of the earth is ardent; where the Ganges carries her song of praise to the sea and the {proud} lord of all mountains, clad in {the} mantle of mist, finds his awful image constant in the heart of the lake Manasa; where the lovelorn cuckoo’s cry echoes in the fragrant groves of spring; where the lotus opens her heart to the morning sky and the water lily watches with the sleepless moon— that land is mine and therefore I am a dedicated slave to love.
**6
*?
*Rabeendra Beekshaa, Vol 29
টেনিসনের প্রতি (৮২)
Who says that the spring has <departed> {fled} from your garden of poesy, O England? <+++,> Even now your air <is surging> {surges} with <the wav> song{s}<-waves and your bird’s carols are> scatter<ing> fresh wonders in your sky. Can ever the lute of your muse be silent, or the dancing sea encircling you be mute? The tunes that rise from your heart are <perpetual> {ceaseless} as the music of the star<s>{ry night.} Your {beauty’s} temple <of beauty> shall never lack its choir of bards. Come, <oh> prince of poets, bring your flower-offerings to the shrine and in return take the <enchanted> wreath of {fearless} fame, conquering death.
*Lover’s Gift
*21
From Devendra Sen (অশোকগুচ্ছ) যুবতীর হাসি ২৭ পৃঃ
Methinks, my love, in the <dim {first}> ⋋daybreak⋋ ⋌{early dusk}⋌ of life’s <{⋏before you came to this shore⋏}> {dawn} you stood <by some river source of tempestuous> {under <the> some waterfall of <rushing>} dreams, filling your blood with its liquid <notes> {turbulence},<⋏⋏>.
Or, perhaps, your path was through the <sweet silent> shade of the garden of the gods, where <eager> {the merry} multitude of jasmines, <and> lilies and white oleanders fall in your arms {in heaps} and entering your
**7
heart became boisterous.
Your laughter is a song whose words are drowned in the tune, an odour of flowers unseen.
It is like {the} moonlight <rushing> {breaking} through your lips’ window when the {midnight} moon is <far away> {high up} in your heart.
I ask for no reason, I forgot the cause, I only know that your laughter is the tumult of insurgent life.
*?
*Modern Review, March 1916
My offence (সোহাগিনী ইথে তোর এত অভিমান) অশোকগুচ্ছ ৭০ পৃঃ
When you smilingly held up to me, my sweet, your child of six months, and I said, “Keep him in your arms,” why did a sudden cloud pass over your face, a cloud of pent-up rain{?} <and hidden lightning?>
Was my offence so great?
When the rosebud, nestling in its branch, smiles {up} to the bent face of the morning, is there any cause for <anger> {sorrow} if I refuse to <+++> steal it from its cradle of leaves?
Or when the cuckoo fills the heart of the happy hours of {the} spring
**8
with love dreams, am I to blame if I cannot conspire to imprison it is <a> {my own} cage?
*Lover’s Gift
*50
From Dwijendra Lall Roy
আলেখ্য (১১)
নূতনমাতা
“Come, moon, come down, kiss my darling in the forehead,” cries the mother as she holds her baby girl in her lap while the autumn moon floats in the pale blue of the evening sky.
From the garden comes stealing in the dark the <mingled the perfume of flowers> {vague summer fragrance} into the room.
<The boys laugh and shout {in the street} in careless merriment.
In the mangrove near by one sleepless {solitary}> {The} [\papia\] sings his heart out <in an untiring tune> {in <from> the shadow-laden solitude of <a> {the} mango grove}, and from some distant peasant’s <hut> {village} come the shrill notes of a flute, soaring in the <starry> sky, spreading in the still air and then <bursting> {coming} down upon the earth like a {star} shower of <{a}> firework<, while> the young mother, sitting <at> {in} the
**9
<window> {balcony}, baby in her lap, croons sweetly, “Come, moon, come down, kiss my darling in the forehead.”
{Once} She looks <once> up {at} the <moon in> {light of} the sky and then <sweet face> down at the <sweet face> {light of the <loveliness> earth} in her arms, and I wonder that the moon could be deaf to her call and smile {on} in placid silence.
The baby laughs and repeats her mother’s call, “Come moon, come down.”
The mother smiles, and smiles the moonlit night, and I, the poet, the husband of the baby’s mother, <view> {watch} this picture from behind, unseen.
**10
*?
You come as a <child> {young} warrior to win the world—
O the wonder of it!
We listen amazed at the music of your voice.
Your {light} mantle is blown in the wind
like the <perfumed breath> {odour of spring flowers.}
You have a spray of malati in your ear.
<Hidden in> {A fire <of innocence> burns <hidden> through the veil of} your smile <there is a flame>
O the wonder of it.
And who knows where your arrows are hidden?
*Song from ‘The Cycle of Spring’
<Oh> <c>{C}ome and rejoice <at the spring time of new life>
for April is awake.
Fling yourself into the flood of <life> {being}
bursting the bondage of the past.
**11
April is awake
The shoreless sea of life is heaving in the sun before you,—
All the losses are lost and death is drowned in its waves,—
plunge in {to} the <depth> {deep} without fear
with the <+++> gladness of April in your blood.
**12
*?
*Rabeendra Beekshaa, Vol 11
The cattle do not move, waiting for the shepherd boy,
& <+++> shepherd’s flutes remain silent <when he is away>.
Mother, we want your child for <us> our joy—
he is unhappy in your house when <he is not with> {away from} us all.
<+++> Send him to us as he is, never minding about his dress,
for we shall dress him <{and deck him}> with our own <dresses> things.
Your house has <got> the wonderful child, {but} it will be <dark> {dismal like} a dark cell if he is not given to us.
<If> {How can} you deny them for who<se>{m} <sake> the lotus has bloo{ss}omed in your
heart’s lake <then you shall> {& thus} miss its meaning?
For he is the wealth <to be spent> {not for hoarding} and you <will be deprived of him if you> {<shall> shall lose him by trying to} keep him shut.
He belongs to the world and not ৲to your house৲ ৴only৴ and therefore we <have come> {are bold} to <ask> {claim} him.
It is death {for you} to give him away but you <shall have to> {must} bear it
<If you fear to part with him>
<Give> {Offer} him to us smilingly if you can,
if you can not yet with tears <you shall have to {must}> part with him,
for he is ours, he is for giving away.
**13
*স্ফুলিঙ্গ-সংযোজন
*১২৬
স্বর্গের চোখের জলে ঝরে পড়ে বৃষ্টি
হাজার হাজার হাসি মর্ত্ত্যে করে সৃষ্টি।
**14
*Poems from Stray Birds, Fireflies etc.
1
Asks the Possible to the Impossible, “Where is your dwelling place?”
“In the dreams of the impotent,” comes the answer.
2
The wasp thinks that the honeyhive of the neighbouring bees is too small.
His neighbours ask him to build a honey hive still smaller.
3
{While} <T>{t}he glass lamp <finds it hard to remember that the earthen lamp is its cousin> {rebukes the earthen <lamp, saying do not call me> one for calling it cousin. <+++> The moon rises.} And the glass lamp with a bland smile calls her, “My <dear> {dear} dear sister!”
4
The echo mocks <its> {her} origin to prove that <it is independent> {she is the original}
5
Surpass the great by your greatness if you can.
<Do not hope> {Never strive} to make him smaller by your <littleness>. {smallness.}
6
The moon has her light<s> all over the sky— but her {dark} spots only <in her own br+++> to herself.
**15
7
The great walks with the small without fear.
The middling keeps aloof.
8
If you shed tears when you miss the sun you miss the stars as well.
9
The infant flower<s> opens its bud and cries, “Dear world, please do not fade!”
10
Rest is a part of the work as eyelids of the of the eyes.
11
<Who> {What fate} is it that <ever> drives me <from behind> <{forward}> {farther and farther?}
{When} I turned back to see <and> {I} found it was myself.
12
We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.
13
The <swallow> {sparrow} is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail.
**16
14
The dog suspects <+++> the whole world for scheming <+++> to take its place at its master’s feet.
15
Heaven’s tears come down in rain to <+++> {blossom} smiles of the earth.
16
God says to man, <+++>
“I heal you therefore I hurt
I pardon you therefore I punish”
17
In the <+++> night the earth whispers {to the raindrops,} “Who are you, little strangers?”
<+++>
<+++> We are your homesick children”
<+++> they answer, <+++> {returned} from the heaven to your breast once again.
18
Little bees sip honey from the flowers and hum {their} thanks when they <+++> {leave} The gaudy butterfly <+++> {is sure} that <+++> {the flowers owe him their} thanks.
**17
19
<The dewdrop smiled in the morning and said and> {You are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf} <and> I am the little <+++> {one} on <the>{its} upper side “<of the lotus leaf>.” said the dewdrop to the lake.
20
The burning log <+++> cried to the mango branches “My death is my greatest fruit.”
21
“The learned <man> says that your lights will be extinct one day” said the firefly to the stars.
The stars <{smiled and}> made no answer.
22
The {woodcutter’s} axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
<The tree begged for its life from the axe.
The axe laughed>
23
Rockets, your insult to the stars follows <you down> {yourself back} to the earth.
24
If you shut <the> your door to all error<s> truth will <find no entrance.> {be shut out.}
**18
25
Power came to the world and said <“I am your master”> {“You are mine”}.
The world kept it prisoner on her throne.
Love came to the world and said, “I am yours.”
The world gave it the freedom of her house.
26
The scabbard is content to be dull,
it protects the keenness of the sword.
27
A mind all logic is like a knife all blade
it makes the hand bleed that uses it.
28
The leaf becomes the flower when it loves.
The flower becomes the fruit when it worships.
29
Roots are the branches in the earth.
<The b>{B}ranches are the roots in the air.
30
The word takes its life from the hidden thought.
The thought takes its food from {the} word expressed.
31
The bird says, “I wish I were a cloud.”
The cloud says, “I wish I were a bird.”
**19
32
<In the poetry of the world t>{T}he lines that are written <are indebted> {blossom upon} the lines that are rejected.
33
In the world flourishe<s> the worlds that {have} failed.
<The world gets its +++ {commerce} from the world that failed.>
34
When the cobweb pretends to catch dew<drops> it catches flies.
35
<The poet night> {Night, the poet of silence,} has won its eternal laurel of the Milky way.
<“What do you whisper to +++ leaves {little leaf}, +++ night?”
“I whisper to you, my flower, I have loved you>
36
Kicks {only} raise dust and not crops from the earth.
<The fish <invites> <{asks}> {provides for} his bird friend <+++> the water {a swim in the deep water}
The bird invites <+++> {thinks} his fish friend<s> to the air>
<We, the rustling leaves love your beauty +++ flower.
Do not envy us our voice which praises you.>
**20
<37>
The wine can <be poured> {pass} from one cup to another
<B>{b}ut <the lyrics of> {loses} its <foam +++t> {wreath of foam}.
<“I have no voice {like you} rustling leaves, {for} I am a mere flower.”
<We are your> <{We want our}> {The} voice, {is for us,} flower, <you are +++> {for we want to praise you.}>
38
<Bird> The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a <turn> {lift} in the air.
<I have not the voice as you have, rustling {great} leaves, I am a {mere trifle +++} mere flower.>
39
<I am not great as you are> {“We, the} rustling leaves, <who> have a voice that answers the storms, {but who are you silent one?”}
“I am a mere <trifle of a> flower.”
40
The song {in it’s tune} speaks of the infinite in the air <{in its tune}>, the picture {in its lines speaks} of the infinite <of> in the earth, <in its lines,> the <poetry> {poem} in its words speaks of the infinite in the air and the earth. For <it has> the words have their meaning which can walk and music which can soar.
**21
41
The <life> {fish} in the sea is silent, <in> {in the} {the animal<s in>} earth <{it}> is noisy, {the bird<s>} in the air <{it}> <is> {is} musical. <But> Man has {in him} the silence of the <fish> {sea}, the noise of the <animal> {earth}, {and} the music of the <bird> {air.}
42
The artist is not a slave of Nature, he is her lover.
<It is not good for the canal to be allowed to think that rivers were specially created to supply it with water.>
43
<Canals> The canal {loves to} think<s> that rivers exist <+++> solely to supply it with water.
44
I, the night, pour out of my eternal bag of darkness the {daily} gold{.} <of the day.>
45
<+++> The fountain of death makes the {still} water of life to play.
46
The waterfall says “I find my song when I find my freedom.”
47
Facts are misers, <they> they do not give full truth, therefore fictions are necessary.
**22
<48>
The <history> {stream} of truth <is> <{in}> <its long <+++> annals> {flows through its channels} of mistakes.
49
<When the water is dry> The dry river bed finds no thanks for its past.
50
Pebbles do not know that they are <slowly> made perfect <by the beauty <{dance}> of the water’s rhythm> {by the rhythm of the {water’s dance}.}
51
The birth and death of the leaves are the whirls of the eddy whose wider circles move slowly among stars.
52
The grass has its power in its crowd, the {big} tree in its solitude.
53
Life is multiplied by its division;— truth is made more the more it is spent.
54
<Our fruits are not ours, the<y>{ir} +++ outside us {belong to others.}> {When we bear fruits we do not keep them}.
55
The cloud <knows> {has} its pride <+++> in its <pain which its must {be} give{n} up.> {loss.}
**23
56
The road is lonely with its multitudes, for it is not loved.
57
In heart’s perspective often the distant <and +++> looms large.
58
The dream is a wife who must talk and the sleep is a husband who silently suffers.
59
<+++> Toes are {the} fingers who are unworthy of their past.
60
The car is cumberous, <for it deals with {moves on the} earth that does not move;> {for <+++> its movement finds no sympathy from the road;} the boat is graceful for it <deals with> <{answers to}> {moves with} the wind & water.
61
Some travellers <carry> {carrying} their lantern <behind them throwing out their light upon the past> {on their back cast {their} shadow before them and} light behind.
62
“Moon, for what do you wait?”
“To salute the <sun who will> <{greater light}> {sun for whom} I must make way.”
**24
<63>
Man is a born child— his power is the power of growth.
64
Literature is the passenger boat, it carries humanity— Science is the cargo boat<s> it carries goods.
65
If feet were pointed they would stick {in} to the earth.
Minds that have <no>, {sharpness without} width <but are sharp> do not move.
66
<Man admires God’s starlight {stars}, God<s> admires man’s lamplights.>
{God loves man’s lamplights more than his own stars}
67
<+++> God waits to find back his own flowers from man’s hands.
68
Chastity <wh> is a <wh> wealth <which> {that} comes from <the> abundance of love.
**25
69
To be outspoken is easy when you donot wait to speak {complete} truth{.} <in its completeness>.
70
The wind is out <i>{o}n the sea, in the forest, to seek its own voice.
71
The poet thinks alone, but he writes with his crowd of readers.
*doodle
72
The One <+++ into man becomes many> <{+++}> {moves <+++> {towards} the Many} like the sea <in> {towards} its waves. The Many moves towards the One like <the> rivers towards the sea.
73
The night <is> {has the <music> {silence}} of all worlds, the day <is only of> {has the noise of} this earth.
74
*doodle
The <great> stars are not afraid to appear <small.> {like <the> fireflies.}
75
<You move on h<+++>{eed}less river {great time}, I, the> {The little} <bank.> {clock}, keep{s} {the small} account{s} <of your every <foot>step.> {of the movement of the great time.}
**26
76
“I can not <have the> {keep your} waves” says the {river} bank to the river, “Let me keep <the prints> {your footprints} in my heart.”
77
“Are you too proud to kiss me?” asks the morning light to the buttercup.
78
<When> your idol is shattered in the dust to prove <you will find> God’s dust is greater than your idol<s>
79
You insult your friend by lending him merits from your imagination.
80
“How may I <worship> {sing to} thee, {and worship} O Sun” asked the little flower.
“By <your> {the simple} silence of {thy} purity” answered the Sun.
**27
*The Fugitive I
*1
Immensely varied <art> thou {art} in the <{+++}> {exuberant} world
O Lady <+++> {whose garment} is the <+++> {manifold.}
Thou shinest in {the} <+++> {multitude} of lights in the blue sky
and <+++> {quiverest in the ecstasy of} flowers <of +++>
Thy steps are ever moving {in dance} from the sky to the earth
and from the earth to the sky again,
while thy anklet bells sound in the distant stars,
and the perfume of thy <hair> {flying} <{loose}> {tresses} floats in the air.
The countless legends of thine are wrought in many a piece of gold,
sung in many songs in <many a> metre{s} without <number> {end}
and from many a book are read in <many> {million} voices.
For immensely varied thou art in the {exuberant} world
O Lady, whose image is the <many> {manifold}.
Thou art one and alone in the {seashore of the} heart
O <the> Lady of the solitude.
Thou art one single <dream> {vision} before {the} eyes moist
with <the> tear mist,
One lotus blossoming upon the stem of love,
One moon in the depth of the midnight.
in the infinity of peace.
**28
There <thou hast thy seat> {before thy <one> lonely worshipper thou standest} where the time and space <is> {are} lost
O ৴fire of৴৲moveless৲ lightning{.} <still and silent.>
Thou standest <still and silent> with the winkless gaze
of the{ine} eyes unfathomably dark,
and with a smile serene like the {lovely} light of the dawn.
For thou art one and alone in the seashore of the
heart, O Lady of the solitude.
**29
*Fruit Gathering
*85
*The Song of the Defeated
My <m>{M}aster has asked of me to stand <by> {at} the roadside of retreat
and <+++> sing the song of the defeated—
For she is the bride whom he <woos in secret> {<courts> {woos} in secret.}
She has put on the {dark} veil <of insult> hiding her <forehead> {face from the crowd}
the jewel <of suffering is> {like fire} glowing <{like fire}> in her breast in the dark.
<The proud day has forsaken her> {She is forsaken of the day} and God’s night is waiting for her <in silence>,
with its lamps lighted and flowers wet with dew.
She is silent <and> {with} her eyes <are> downcast; <for> she has left her home behind her
from where comes the wailing in the wind.
But the stars are singing the love song of the Eternal
<at the ears> {to} the bride whose face is sweet with shame and suffering.
<The The> <{and}> {The} door has been opened in the <secret> {lonely} chamber,
<and> the call has come;
and the heart of the darkness throbs with the awe of <joy> {the expectant} <moment> <{time}> {tryst}
**30
Those who walk on the path of <power> {pride}
crushing <thy flowers> {the lowly life} under their <+++ feet> {tread}
leaving their footprints in blood upon the tender green of thy earth
Let them rejoice and thank thee, <my> <l>{L}ord,
for the day is theirs.
But thou hast done well in leaving me with the humble
<bleeding hearts of thy world>
whose doom it is to suffer <in silence>,
and bear the burden of power
and hide their faces and stifle their sobs in the dark
<For the morning is for them,—>
<f>{F}or every throb {of} their pain has pulsed in the <silent> heart of thy night
and every insult has been gathered in thy great silence
And the morrow is theirs.
**31
*Nationalism
*The Sunset of the Century
1
The last sun of the century sets amidst the blood-red clouds of the west and the whirlwind of hatred.
The naked passion of self-love of Nations, in its drunken delirium of greed
is dancing to the clash of steel and howling verses of vengeance.
2
The hungry self of the Nation shall burst in a violence of fury by its own shameless feeding.
For it has made the world its food.
And licking it, crunching it and swallowing it in big morsels it swells and swells
<it swells and swells>
till in the midst of its unholy feast descends the {sudden} shaft of heaven piercing its heart of grossness.
3
The crimson glow of light on the horizon
is not the light if thy dawn of peace, my Motherland!
It is the glimmer of the funeral pyre
burning to ashes the vast flesh,{—} the self love of the Nation— dead <killed by> {under} its own excess.
Thy morning waits behind the patient dark of the East, meek and still and silent.
**32
4
Keep watch India:
Bring your {offerings of} worship for that sacred sun-rise!
Let the first hymn of its <worship> {welcome} sound in your voice and sing
“Come Peace, thou daughter of God’s own great suffering!
Come with thy treasure of contentment, thy sword of fortitude,
and meekness crowning the forehead.”
5
Be not ashamed, my brothers, to stand before the proud <+++> and the powerful<,>
with your white robe of simpleness.
Let your crown be of humility, your freedom the freedom of the soul<.>
Build God’s throne daily upon the ample bareness of your poverty
and know that what is huge is not great
and pride is not everlasting.
**33
*Crossing
*27
I am <like> the weary earth of summer
parched and exhausted of life
And when thy shower comes down in the night
I bare open my breast
<+++>{to} receive it in silence
I lo<ve>{ng} to give thee in return
my songs and my flowers
but empty is my store
and only the deep sigh rises from my heart through the withered grass.
But I know {that} thou <shal> wilt wait for the morning
When my hours will brim with their riches.
*Crossing
*70
I have seen thee play thy music in <the> life’s dancing hall <of life>.
In the sudden {leaf} burst of the spring <leaves in the sun>
<I have found thy message> {thy laughter has come to greet me}
and lying among <flowers of> the field flowers
I have heard {in the grass} thy <voice coming through the heart of the earth in the green grass> {whisper}.
**34
The child has brought to my house
the message of thy hope
and the woman the <message> <{song}> {music} of thy love.
Now I am waiting in the sea shore
to feel thee in death
to know life’s meaning in the
revealment of stars in the night
±[/36 END/]
No. 77±
**35
*Lover’s Gift
*29
I thought I had something to say to her when our eyes met {in the road}
But she passed away;
<And the thing that I had to say to her>
And it rocks <lik> day & night like a boat
on every wave of the hours
{the thing that I had to say to her.}
It seems to <f> sail in the autumn clouds
in an <+++>{end}less quest
and {to} bloom into <+++> {evening} flowers
seeking its lost words in the <sky> sunset.
It twinkles like fireflies in my heart
to <seek> {find} its meaning in the dusk of despair
the<+++> {thing} that I had to say to her.
*Crossing
*5
<Clouds have gathered over my world> {The scouts of a distant storm pitched their cloud tents in the sky}
The light has paled
The air is damp with tears in the voiceless shadows of the forest.
The peace of sadness is in my heart
like <the> silen<t>{ce upon the} master’s <harp> {lute}
My world is still with {the} expectation of the great pain
of thy coming into my life
**36
*Crossing
*74
<Thou hast>
It has fallen upon me the service of thy singer.
I have given voice to thy spring flowers in my songs
and rhythm to thy dancing leaves.
I have sung in to the <heart> {hush} of thy night<’s silence>
and into the peace of thy morning.
The thrill of the first summer rain has passed into my tunes
and the waving of the autumn harvest.
Let not my song cease Master,
when thou breakest my heart
to come into my house.
let me sing thy welcome in tears.
*Crossing
*71
I remember my childhood when {the} sunrise, {⋏like my playfellow⋏}
would <come> {burst} to my bedside <⋏⋏>
with its daily surprise<s> of the morning <would>
When <expectation<s> of marvels> {the <quest for> {faith in} the marvellous} bloomed like {fresh} flowers in my heart {everyday}
<+++> looking into the face of the world in simple gladness,
when the insects, birds and beasts, the common weeds, grass & {the} clouds
had their fullest value of wonder,
**37
when the patter of rain in the night
brought dreams from the fairyland
and mother’s voice in the evening gave meaning to the stars.
And then I think of death
and the rise of {the} curtain,
and the new morning <with its new world>
and my life awakened in its fresh surprise of love.
*Crossing
*73
Thou hast given me my seat at thy window from th<y>{e} early hour.
I have spoken to thy silent servants of the road running <i>{o}n thy errands
and have sung with thy choir of the sky.
I have seen th<y>{e} sea in calm bearing its immeasururable silence
and in storm struggling to break <the> {its own} mystery of <its own> {depth}
I have watched the earth in its {prodigal} feast ofyouth
and in its <dark> hours of brooding shadows.
**38
Those who went to sow <the> seeds have <have my> {heard me} s<ong>{ing} in the morning
and those who brough their harvest home or their empty baskets
have passed by my songs.
Thus {at last} my day has ended, <at last>
and now in the evening I sing my last song
to say that I have loved thy world.
