TAKE YOUR holiday, my boy; there are the blue sky and the bare field, the barn and the ruined temple under the ancient tamarind. My holiday must be taken through yours, finding light in the dance of your eyes, music in your noisy shouts. To you autumn brings the true holiday freedom: to me it brings the impossibility of work; for lo! you burst into my room. Yes, my holiday is an endless freedom for love to disturb.
I.39. are man, dhiraj kahe na dharai WHY SO impatient, my heart? He who watches over birds, beasts, and insects, He who cared for you whilst you were yet in your mother's womb, Shall He not care for you now that you are come forth? Oh my heart, how could you turn from the smile of your Lord and wander so far from Him? You have left your Beloved and are thinking of others: and this is why all your work is in vain.
A BEAST'S BONY frame lies bleaching on the grass. Its dry white bonesTime's hard laughtercry to me: Thy end, proud man, is one with the end of the cattle that graze no more, for when thy life's wine is spilt to its last drop the cup is flung away in final unconcern. I cry in answer: Mine is not merely the life that pays its bed and board with its bankrupt bones, and is made destitute. Never can my mortal days contain to the full all that I have thought and felt, gained and given, listened to and uttered. Often has my mind crossed Time's border, Is it to stop at last for ever at the boundary of crumbling bones? Flesh and blood can never be the measure of the truth that is myself; the days and moments cannot wear it out with their passing kicks; the wayside bandit, Dust, dares not rob it of all its possessions. Death, I refuse to accept from thee that I am nothing but a gigantic jest of God, a blank annihilation built with all the wealth of the Infinite.
