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akuntala, we have watered the trees that blossom in the summer-time. Now let’s sprinkle those whose flowering-time is past. That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for a reward.
To beauty such as this No woman could give birth; The quivering lightning flash Is not a child of earth.
Ah, my wishes become hopes.
A thought is as vivid as an act, to a lover.
Although she does not speak to me, She listens while I speak; Her eyes turn not to see my face, But nothing else they seek.
No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty, Her blameless loveliness and worth, Unless he has fulfilled man’s perfect duty— And is there such a one on earth?
Two inconsistent duties sever My mind with cruel shock, As when the current of a river Is split upon a rock.
Grief must be shared to be endured.
No sooner did the thirsty bird With parching throat complain, Than forming clouds in heaven stirred And sent the streaming rain.
Because your heart, by loving fancies blinded, Has scorned a guest in pious life grown old, Your lover shall forget you though reminded, Or think of you as of a story told.
My dear, this is no ordinary somebody. It is the great sage Durvasas, the irascible. See how he strides away!
A bee may be born in a hole in a tree, but she likes the honey of the lotus.
akuntala must go to-day; I miss her now at heart; I dare not speak a loving word Or choking tears will start. My eyes are dim with anxious thought; Love strikes me to the life: And yet I strove for pious peace— I have no child, no wife. What must a father feel, when come The pangs of parting from his child at home?
May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye; May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease; May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh; May all your path be pleasantness and peace.
A girl is held in trust, another’s treasure; To arms of love my child to-day is given; And now I feel a calm and sacred pleasure; I have restored the pledge that came from heaven.
The mind of age is like a lamp Whose oil is running thin; One moment it is shining bright, Then darkness closes in.
Hermits? Accompanied by women? From Kanva?
Do leaguèd powers of sin conspire To balk religion’s pure desire? Has wrong been done to beasts that roam Contented round the hermits’ home? Do plants no longer bud and flower, To warn me of abuse of power? These doubts and more assail my mind, But leave me puzzled, lost, and blind.
I cannot taste the sweet, and cannot leave it.
A stream that eats away the bank, Grows foul, and undermines the tree. So you would stain your honour, while You plunge me into misery.
It is just such women, selfish, sweet, false, that entice fools.
Be slow to love, but yet more slow With secret mate; With those whose hearts we do not know, Love turns to hate.
You can’t give up a lowdown trade That your ancestors began; A butcher butchers things, and yet He’s the tenderest-hearted man.
Move on, you cutpurse, move on.
Misfortune finds the weak spot.
A good man never lets grief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest.
A graceful arch of brows above great eyes; Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red As red karkandhu-fruit; love’s brightness shed O’er all her face in bursts of liquid charm— The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.
I treated her with scorn and loathing ever; Now o’er her pictured charms my heart will burst: A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river, And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.
To be a king, is to be a disappointed man.
They show their little buds of teeth In peals of causeless laughter; They hide their trustful heads beneath Your heart. And stumbling after Come sweet, unmeaning sounds that sing To you. The father warms And loves the very dirt they bring Upon their little forms.
The tears would choke you, sweet, in vain; My soul with victory is fed, Because I see your face again— No jewels, but the lips are red.
May kingship benefit the land, And wisdom grow in scholars’ band; May Shiva see my faith on earth And make me free of all rebirth.
