Brindaban

 

Where the frail dawnlight trickled through

The red-rose leaves and scent,

By pathways where the moth-hour flew,

My golden lover went.

 

In alleys sweet with moss and fern,

Where the sunlight trembles through,

In a dance of warm white whisperings

Upon the iris dew;

 

And the twittering secrets meet and scatter

The flutings of the day,

 Between the tiny winks of silence,

He softly went away.

 

When the moon-cleaned fruit is gathered home,

Through watches of the night,

He will come again with song and dance

Within the winds of Light.

 

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