The Golden Threshold | Page 8

sender of rain and the dewfall, we hail thee, We praise thee, Varuna, with cymbal and pipe.
Women's Voices
Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the harvest, Sweet and omnipotent mother, O Earth! Thine is the plentiful bosom that feeds us, Thine is the womb where our riches have birth. We bring thee our love and our garlands for tribute, With gifts of thy opulent giving we come; O source of our manifold gladness, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Prithvi, with cymbal and drum.
All Voices
Lord of the Universe, Lord of our being, Father eternal, ineffable Om! Thou art the Seed and the Scythe of our harvests, Thou art our Hands and our Heart and our Home. We bring thee our lives and our labours for tribute, Grant us thy succour, thy counsel, thy care. O Life of all life and all blessing, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Bramha, with cymbal and prayer.

INDIAN LOVE-SONG
She
Like a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love! Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers; And on ripe boughs of many-coloured fruits Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.
He
Like the perfume in the petals of a rose, Hides thy heart within my bosom, O my love! Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove That hangs its nest in the asoka-tree. Lie still, O love, until the morning sows Her tents of gold on fields of ivory.

CRADLE-SONG
From groves of spice, O'er fields of rice, Athwart the lotus-stream, I bring for you, Aglint with dew A little lovely dream.
Sweet, shut your eyes, The wild fire-fiies Dance through the fairy neem; From the poppy-bole For you I stole A little lovely dream.
Dear eyes, good-night, In golden light The stars around you gleam; On you I press With soft caress A little lovely dream.

SUTTEE
Lamp of my life, the lips of Death Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath; Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . . Love, must I dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root; Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . . Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword Hath severed us like a broken word, Rent us in twain who are but one . . Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?

SONGS FOR MUSIC
SONG OF A DREAM
Once in the dream of a night I stood Lone in the light of a magical wood, Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang; And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang, And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed, And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
Lone in the light of that magical grove, I felt the stars of the spirits of Love Gather and gleam round my delicate youth, And I heard the song of the spirits of Truth; To quench my longing I bent me low By the streams of the spirits of Peace that flow In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

HUMAYUN TO ZOBEIDA
(From the Urdu)
You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your sweetness in the nightingale, your whiteness in the swan.
You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon, Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune.
Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace, You cry, "I SIT BEHIND THE VEIL, I CANNOT SHOW MY FACE."
Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss? Shall any fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss?
What war is this of THEE and ME? Give o'er the wanton strife, You are the heart within my heart, the life within my life.

AUTUMN SONG
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, The sunset hangs on a cloud; A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling To my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, And why should I stay behind?

ALABASTER
Like this alabaster box whose art Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart, Carven with delicate dreams and wrought With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
Therein I treasure the spice and scent Of rich and passionate memories blent Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove, Of song and sorrow and life and love.

ECSTASY
Cover mine eyes, O my Love! Mine eyes that are weary of bliss As of light that is poignant and strong O silence my lips with a kiss, My lips that are weary