Beech, of leafy isles the queen, beech, of trees the lady,
Soaring to a tower of sighs, in branches soft and shady,
You that sunward lift your strength, to make of shadow duty,
Teach me, tree, your heavenly height, and earth-remembering beauty.
Maiden, would you soar like me, with day-upclouding tresses,
Beauty into bounty change, bend down the eye that blesses;
Make from heaven a shelter cool, to shepherd and sheep silly
Shadowing with shadiness, hot rose and fainting lily.
Through your glorious heart of gloom, the noonday wind awaking
In an ecstasy shall set swaying, blowing, shaking;
Leafy branches, in their nests set the sweet birds rocking
Till their happy song break out, the noonday ardour mocking.
Willow sweet, willow sad, willow by the river,
Taught by pensive love to droop, where ceaseless waters shiver,
Teach me, steadfast sorrower, your mournful grace of graces;
Weeping to make beautiful the silent water-places.
Maiden, would you learn of me the loveliness of mourning,
Droop into the chill, wan wave, strength, hardness, lofty scorning;
Drench your drooping soul in tears, content to love and languish,
Gaze in sorrow’s looking-glass, and see the face of anguish?
In the very wash of woe, as your bowed soul shall linger,
You shall touch the sheer, bright stars, and on the moon set finger;
You shall hear, where brooks have birth, the mountain-pine’s emotion,
Catch upon the broadening stream the sound and swell of ocean.
Manmohan Ghose.
ORPHIC MYSTERIES: THE YELLOW BUTTERFLY
Of all shy visitants, I love
That darling butterfly,
Whose wings are to the cornfield’s wave
A hovering reply.
Yellow as dancing wheat-ears ripe
He suns with his gay youth,
And feeds me with the gold of light,
The thrice-tried gleam of truth.