1.
He stands as firm as a tree stem,
In heat and tempest and frost;
His toes in the ground are planted,
His arms are heavenward toss’d.
Thus long is Bagíratha tortured,
And Brama his torments would end;
He makes the mighty Ganges
Down from the heavens descend.
But I, my loved one, am vainly
Tormented and stricken with woe;
From out of thine heavenly eyelids
No drops of pity e’er flow.
2.
Four-and-twenty hours I still must
Wait, to see my bliss complete,
As her sidelong glances tell me,
Glances, O how dazzling sweet!
Language is but inexpressive,
Words are awkward and in vain;
Soon as they are said, the pretty
Butterfly flies off again.
But a look may last for ever,
And with joy may fill thy breast,
Making it like some wide heaven,
Full of starry rapture blest.
3.
Not one solitary kiss
After months of loving passion,
So my mouth must still continue
Dry, in very wretched fashion.