IN THIS moment I see you seated upon the morning's golden carpet. The sun shines in your crown, the stars drop at your feet, the crowds come and bow to you and go, and the poet sits speechless in the corner.
IN THE YOUTH of the world, Himalaya, you sprang from the rent breast of the earth, and hurled your burning challenges to the sun, hill after hill. Then came the mellow time when you said to yourself, 'No more, no further!' and your fiery heart, that raged for the freedom of clouds, found its limits, and stood still to salute the limitless. After this check on your passion, beauty was free to play upon your breast, and trust surrounded you with the joy of flowers and birds. You sit in your solitude like a great reader, on whose lap lies open some ancient book with its countless pages of stone. What story is written there, I wonder?is it the eternal wedding of the divine ascetic, Shiva, with Bhavani, the divine love?the drama of the Terrible wooing the power of the Frail?
