III. 60. cal hamsa wa des jahan O MY HEART! let us go to that country where dwells the Beloved, the ravisher of my heart! There Love is filling her pitcher from the well, yet she has no rope wherewith to draw water; There the clouds do not cover the sky, yet the rain falls down in gentle showers: O bodiless one! do not sit on your doorstep; go forth and bathe yourself in that rain! There it is ever moonlight and never dark; and who speaks of one sun only? that land is illuminate with the rays of a million suns.
HER NEIGHBOURS call her dark in the village-but she is a lily to my heart, yes, a lily though not fair. Light came muffled with clouds, when first I saw her in the field; her head was bare, her veil was off, her braided hair hanging loose on her neck. She may be dark as they say in the village, but I have seen her black eyes and am glad. The pulse of the air boded storm. She rushed out of the hut, when she heard her dappled cow low in dismay. For a moment she turned her large eyes to the clouds, and felt a stir of the coming rain in the sky. I stood at the corner of the ricefield,-if she noticed me, it was known only to her (and perhaps I know it). She is dark as the message of shower in summer, dark as the shade of flowering woodland; she is dark as the longing for unknown love in the wistful night of May.
THY GIFT OF THE earliest flower came to me this morning, and came the faint tuning of thy light. I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy golden dawn, My wings are radiant with its pollen. I have found my place in the feast of songs in thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like the morning of its mist in a mere play.
