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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 179 pages of information about Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works.

  WINTER

  The bloom of tenderer flowers is past
    And lilies droop forlorn,
  For winter-time is come at last,
    Rich with its ripened corn;
  Yet for the wealth of blossoms lost
    Some hardier flowers appear
  That bid defiance to the frost
    Of sterner days, my dear.

  The vines, remembering summer, shiver
    In frosty winds, and gain
  A fuller life from mere endeavour
    To live through all that pain;
  Yet in the struggle and acquist
    They turn as pale and wan
  As lonely women who have missed
    Known love, now lost and gone.

  Then may these winter days show forth
    To you each known delight,
  Bring all that women count as worth
    Pure happiness and bright;
  While villages, with bustling cry,
    Bring home the ripened corn,
  And herons wheel through wintry sky,
    Forget sad thoughts forlorn.

  EARLY SPRING

  Now, dearest, lend a heedful ear
    And listen while I sing
  Delights to every maiden dear,
    The charms of early spring: 
  When earth is dotted with the heaps
    Of corn, when heron-scream
  Is rare but sweet, when passion leaps
    And paints a livelier dream.

  When all must cheerfully applaud
    A blazing open fire;
  Or if they needs must go abroad,
    The sun is their desire;
  When everybody hopes to find
    The frosty chill allayed
  By garments warm, a window-blind
    Shut, and a sweet young maid.

  Then may the days of early spring
    For you be rich and full
  With love’s proud, soft philandering
    And many a candy-pull,
  With sweetest rice and sugar-cane: 
    And may you float above
  The absent grieving and the pain
    Of separated love.

  SPRING

  A stalwart soldier comes, the spring,
    Who bears the bow of Love;
  And on that bow, the lustrous string
    Is made of bees, that move
  With malice as they speed the shaft
    Of blossoming mango-flower
  At us, dear, who have never laughed
    At love, nor scorned his power.

  Their blossom-burden weights the trees;
    The winds in fragrance move;
  The lakes are bright with lotuses,
    The women bright with love;
  The days are soft, the evenings clear
    And charming; everything
  That moves and lives and blossoms, dear,
    Is sweeter in the spring.

  The groves are beautifully bright
    For many and many a mile
  With jasmine-flowers that are as white
    As loving woman’s smile: 
  The resolution of a saint
    Might well be tried by this;
  Far more, young hearts that fancies paint
    With dreams of loving bliss.

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EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY

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