AHANA A poem in rhymed quantitative hexameters Ahana (Ahana, the Dawn of God, descends on the world where amid the strife and trouble of mortality the Hunters of Joy, the Seekers after Knowledge, the Climbers in the quest of Power are toiling up the slopes or waiting in the valleys. As she stands on the mountains of the East, voices of the Hunters of Joy are the first to greet her.) Vision delightful alone on the hills whom the silences cover, Closer yet lean to mortality; human, stoop to thy lover. Wonderful, gold like a moon in the square of the sun where thou strayest Glimmers thy face amid crystal purities; mighty thou playest Sole on the peaks of the wor

BAJI PRABHOU Author’s Note This poem is founded on the historical incident of the heroic self-sacrifice of Baji Prabhou Deshpande, who to cover Shivaji's retreat, held the pass of Rangana for two hours with a small company of men against twelve thousand Moguls. Beyond the single fact of this great exploit there has been no attempt to preserve historical accuracy. Page-279 Baji Prabhou A noon of Deccan with its tyrant glare Oppressed the earth; the hills stood deep in haze, And sweltering athirst the fields glared up Longing for water in the courses parched Of streams long dead. Nature and man alike, Imprisoned by a br

A Vision of Science I dreamed that in myself the world I saw, Wherein three Angels strove for mastery. Law Was one, clear vision and denial cold, Yet in her limits strong, presumptuous, bold; The second with enthusiasm bright, Flame in her heart but round her brows the night, Faded as this advanced. She could not bear That searching gaze, nor the strong chilling air These thoughts created, nourishing our parts Of mind, but petrifying human hearts. Science was one, the other gave her name, Religion. But a third behind them came, Veiled, vague, remote, and had as yet no right Upon the world, but lived in her own light. Wide were the victories of the Angel

Song O lady Venus, shine on me, O rose-crowned goddess from thy seas Radiant among the Cyclades! O rose-crowned, puissant like the sea. And bring thy Graces three, The swift companions of thy mirthful mind, Bring thy sweet rogue with thee, Thy careless archer, beautiful and blind. A woman's royal heart Bid him to wound and bind her who is free; Bind her for me! Nor for the sweet bright crimson blood may start In little rillets from the little heart Spare her thy sport to be, Goddess, she spared not me. Epigram If thou wouldst traverse Time with vagrant feet Nor make the poles thy limit, fill not then Thy wallet with the fancy

II SONNETS Early Period To the Cuckoo Sounds of the wakening world, the year’s increase, Passage of wind and all his dewy powers With breath and laughter of new-bathed flowers And that deep light of heaven above the trees Awake mid leaves that muse in golden peace Sweet noise of birds, but most in heavenly showers The cuckoo’s voice pervades the lucid hours, Is priest and summoner of these melodies. The spent and weary streams refresh their youth At that creative rain and barren groves Regain their face of flowers; in thee the ruth Of Nature wakening her dead children moves. But chiefly to renew

Perfect thy motion Perfect thy motion ever within me, Master of mind. Grey of the brain, flash of the lightning, Brilliant and blind, These thou linkest, the world to mould, Writing the thought in a scroll of gold Violet-lined. Tablet of brain thou hast made for thy writing, Master divine. Calmly thou writest or full of thy grandeur Flushed as with wine, Then with a laugh thou erasest the scroll, Bringing another, like waves that roll And sink supine. Phaethon Ye weeping poplars by the shelvy slope From murmurous lawns down-dropping to the stream On whom the dusk air like a sombre dream Broods and a tw

In the Moonlight If now must pause the bullocks’ jingling tune, Here let it be beneath the dreaming trees Supine and huge that hang upon the breeze, Here in the wide eye of the silent moon. How living a stillness reigns! The night’s hushed rules All things obey but three, the slow wind’s sigh Among the leaves, the cricket’s ceaseless cry, The frog’s harsh discord in the ringing pools. Yet they but seem the silence to increase And dreadful wideness of the inhuman night. The whole hushed world immeasurable might Be watching round this single spot of peace. So boundless is the darkness and so rife With th

Who art thou that camest Who art thou that earnest Bearing the occult Name, Wings of regal darkness Eyes of an unborn flame? Like the august uprising Of a forgotten sun Out of the caverned midnight Fire-trails of wonder run. Captured the heart renouncing Tautness of passion-worn strings Allows the wide-wayed sweetness Of free supernal things. One Day THE LITTLE MORE One day, and all the half-dead is done, One day, and all the unborn begun; A little path and the great goal, A touch that brings the divine whole. Hill after hill was climbed and now, Behold, the last tr

Kamadeva When in the heart of the valleys and hid by the roses The sweet Love lies, Has he wings to rise to his heavens or in the closes Lives and dies? On the peaks of the radiant mountains if we should meet him Proud and free, Will he not frown on the valleys? Would it befit him Chained to be? Will you then speak of the one as a slave and a wanton, The other too bare? But God is the only slave and the only monarch We declare. It is God who is Love and a boy and a slave for our passion He was made to serve; It is God who is free and proud and the limitless tyrant Our souls deserve.

Lines on Ireland 1896 After six hundred years did Fate intend Her perfect perseverance thus should end? So many years she strove, so many years, Enduring toil, enduring bitter tears, She waged religious war, with sword and song Insurgent against Fate and numbers, strong To inflict as to sustain; her weak estate Could not conceal the goddess in her gait; Goddess her mood. Therefore that light was she In whom races of weaker destiny Their beauteous image of rebellion saw; Treason could not unnerve, violence o’erawe— A mirror to enslavèd nations, never O’ercome, though in the field defeated ever. O mutability of human merit! How changed, ho