YOURS IS THE light that breaks forth from the dark, and the good that sprouts from the cleft heart of strife.
Yours is the house that opens upon the world, and the love that calls to the battlefield.
Yours is the gift that still is a gain when everything is a loss, and the life that flows through the caverns of death.
Yours is the heaven that lies in the common dust, and you are there for me, you are there for all.

I CALL HER MY Krishna flower
though they call her dark in the village.
I remember a cloud-laden day
and a glance from her eyes,
her veil trailing down at her feet
her braided hair loose on her back.
Ah, you call her dark; let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
Her cows were lowing in the meadow,
when the fading light grew grey.
With hurried steps she came out
from her hut near the bamboo grove.
She raised her quick eyes to the sky,
where the clouds were heavy with rain.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
The East wind in fitful gusts
ruffled the young shoots of rice.
I stood at the boundary hedge
with none else in the lonely land.
If she espied me in secret or not
She only knows and know 1.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
She is the surprise of cloud
in the burning heart of May,
a tender shadow on the forest
in the stillness of sunset hour,
a mystery of dumb delight
in the rain-loud night of June.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
I call her my Krishna flower,
let all others say what they like.
In the rice-field of Maina village
I felt the first glance of her eyes.
She had not a veil on her face,
not a moment of leisure for shyness.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.

COME TO MY garden walk, my love. Pass by the fervid flowers that press themselves on your sight. Pass them by, stopping at some chance joy, that like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, yet eludes.
For love's gift is shy, it never tells its name, it flits across the shade, spreading a shiver of joy along the dust. Overtake it or miss it for ever. But a gift that can be grasped is merely a frail flower, or a lamp with a flame that will flicker.