صفحة 72 من 83

It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all nights

from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in

rainy darkness of July.

It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and

desires, into sufferings and joy in human homes; and this it is

that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.

85.

When the warriors came out first from their master's hall, where

had they hid their power? Where were their armour and their arms?

They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon

them on the day they came out from their master's hall.

When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where

did they hide their power?

They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow;

peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of

their life behind them on the day they marched back again to

their master's hall.

86.

Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown sea

and brought thy call to my home.