The doves cooed among the dense leaves.
I was alone in my balcony when you went away.
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I was one among many women busy with the obscure daily tasks of the household.
Why did you single me out and bring me away from the cool shelter of our common life?
Love unexpressed in sacred. It shines like gems in the gloom of the hidden heart. In the light of the curious day it looks pitifully dark.
Ah, you broke through the cover of my heart and dragged my trembling love into the open place, destroying for ever the shady corner where it hid its nest.
The other women are the same as ever.
No one has peeped into their inmost being, and they themselves know not their own secret.
Lightly they smile, and weep, chatter, and work. Daily they go to the temple, light their lamps, and fetch water from the river.
I hoped my love would be saved from the shivering shame of the shelterless, but you turn your face away.
Yes, your path lies open before you, but you have cut off my return, and left me stripped naked before the world with its lidless eyes staring night and day.
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I plucked your flower, O world!
I pressed it to my heart and the thorn pricked.
When the day waned and it darkened, I found that the flower had faded, but the pain remained.
More flowers will come to you with perfume and pride, O world!
But my time for flower-gathering is over, and through the dark night I have not my rose, only the pain remains.
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One morning in the flower garden a blind girl came to offer me a flower chain in the cover of a lotus leaf.
I put it round my neck, and tears came to my eyes.
I kissed her and said, "You are blind even as the flowers are.
You yourself know not how beautiful is your gift."
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O woman, you are not merely the handiwork of God, but also of men; these are ever endowing you with beauty from their hearts.
Poets are weaving for you a web with threads of golden imagery; painters are giving your form ever new immortality.
The sea gives its pearls, the mines their gold, the summer gardens their flowers to deck you, to cover you, to make you more precious.
The desire of men's hearts has shed its glory over your youth.
You are one half woman and one half dream.
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Amidst the rush and roar of life, O Beauty, carved in stone, you stand mute and still, alone and aloof.
Great Time sits enamoured at your feet and murmurs: "Speak, speak to me, my love; speak, my bride!"
But your speech is shut up in stone, O Immovable Beauty!
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Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
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In the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.
Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, "Are you well, my friend?"
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
Out lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.
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