They speak a noble language,
Copious and rich and strong;
Yet none of your greatest schoolmen
Can understand that tongue.
But I have learnt it, and never
Can forget it for my part—
For I used as my only grammar
The face of the joy of my heart.
9[13]
On the wings of song far sweeping,
Heart's dearest, with me thou'lt go
Away where the Ganges is creeping;
Its loveliest garden I know—
A garden where roses are burning
In the moonlight all silent there;
Where the lotus-flowers are yearning
For their sister belovèd and fair.
The violets titter, caressing,
Peeping up as the planets appear,
And the roses, their warm love confessing,
Whisper words, soft-perfumed, to each ear.
And, gracefully lurking or leaping,
The gentle gazelles come round:
While afar, deep rushing and sweeping,
The waves of the Ganges sound.
We'll lie there in slumber sinking
Neath the palm-trees by the stream,
Rapture and rest deep drinking,
Dreaming the happiest dream.
10[14]
The lotos flower is troubled
By the sun's too garish gleam,
She droops, and with folded petals
Awaiteth the night in a dream.