Sluggish tears upon the darksome mould."
Quick then did Moti speak, by love made bold,
"No cause is there, O Love, for sad affright,
For I have read the portents of the night;
Of envy dies the glowworm when the moon
Is worshipped in the welkin, and the boon
Of costly tears
Dropped by the bleeding tree, to mortal cares
Is healing balm;
The rosebuds dream, Love, and the soft wind's sigh