48


Free me from the bonds of your sweetness, my love!  No more of
  this wine of kisses.
This mist of heavy incense stifles my heart.
Open the doors, make room for the morning light.
I am lost in you, wrapped in the folds of your caresses.
Free me from your spells, and give me back the manhood to offer
  you my freed heart.

49


I hold her hands and press her to my breast.
I try to fill my arms with her loveliness, to plunder her sweet
  smile with kisses, to drink her dark glances with my eyes.
Ah, but, where is it?  Who can strain the blue from the sky?
I try to grasp the beauty, it eludes me, leaving only the body in
  my hands.
Baffled and weary I come back.
How can the body touch the flower which only the spirit may
  touch?

50


Love, my heart longs day and night for the meeting with you--for
  the meeting that is like all-devouring death.
Sweep me away like a storm; take everything I have; break open my
  sleep and plunder my dreams.  Rob me of my world.
In that devastation, in the utter nakedness of spirit, let us
  become one in beauty.
Alas for my vain desire!  Where is this hope for union except in
  thee, my God?

51


Then finish the last song and let us leave.
Forget this night when the night is no more.
Whom do I try to clasp in my arms?  Dreams can never be made
  captive.
My eager hands press emptiness to my heart and it bruises my
  breast.

52


Why did the lamp go out?
I shaded it with my cloak to save it from the wind, that is why
  the lamp went out.

Why did the flower fade?
I pressed it to my heart with anxious love, that is why the
  flower faded.

Why did the stream dry up?
I put a dam across it to have it for my use, that is why the
  stream dried up.

Why did the harp-string break?
I tried to force a note that was beyond its power, that is why
  the harp-string is broken.

53


Why do you put me to shame with a look?
I have not come as a beggar.
Only for a passing hour I stood at the end of your courtyard
  outside the garden hedge.
Why do you put me to shame with a look?

Not a rose did I gather from your garden, not a fruit did I
  pluck.
I humbly took my shelter under the wayside shade where every
  strange traveller may stand.
Not a rose did I pluck.

Yes, my feet were tired, and the shower of rain come down.
The winds cried out among the swaying bamboo branches.
The clouds ran across the sky as though in the flight from
  defeat.
My feet were tired.

I know not what you thought of me or for whom you were waiting at
  your door.
Flashes of lightning dazzled your watching eyes.
How could I know that you could see me where I stood in the dark?
I know not what you thought of me.

The day is ended, and the rain has ceased for a moment.
I leave the shadow of the tree at the end of your garden and this
  seat on the grass.
It has darkened; shut your door; I go my way.
The day is ended.

54


Where do you hurry with your basket this late evening when the
  marketing is over?
They all have come home with their burdens; the moon peeps from
  above the village trees.
The echoes of the voices calling for the ferry run across the
  dark water to the distant swamp where wild ducks sleep.
Where do you hurry with your basket when the marketing is over?

Sleep has laid her fingers upon the eyes of the earth.
The nests of the crows have become silent, and the murmurs of the
  bamboo leaves are silent.
The labourers home from their fields spread their mats in the
  courtyards.
Where do you hurry with your basket when the marketing is over?

55


It was mid-day when you went away.
The sun was strong in the sky.
I had done my work and sat alone on my balcony when you went
  away.

Fitful gusts came winnowing through the smells of many distant
  fields.
The doves cooed tireless in the shade, and a bee strayed in my
  room humming the news of many distant fields.

The village slept in the noonday heat.  The road lay deserted.
In sudden fits the rustling of the leaves rose and died.
I glazed at the sky and wove in the blue the letters of a name I
  had known, while the village slept in the noonday heat.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.  The languid breeze played with
  it upon my cheek.
The river ran unruffled under the shady bank.
The lazy white clouds did not move.
I had forgotten to braid my hair.

It was mid-day when you went away.
The dust of the road was hot and the fields panting.
The doves cooed among the dense leaves.
I was alone in my balcony when you went away.

56


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.

57


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.