Perigune Prologuises Cool may you find the youngling grass, my herd, Cool with delicious dew, while I here dream And listen to the sweet and garrulous bird That matches its cool note with Thea’s stream. Boon Zephyr now with waist ungirdled runs, And you, O luminous nurslings, wider blow, O nurslings of light rain and vernal suns, When bounteous winds about the garden go. Apt to my soul art thou, blithe honeyed moon, O lovely mother of the rose-red June. Zephyr that all things soothes, enhances all, Dwells with thee softly, the near cuckoo drawn To farther groves with sweet inviting call And dewy buds upon the blossoming lawn. But ah, today some hap

-45_A God's Labour.htm SHORT POEMS (1930 - 1950) God’s Labour I have gathered my dreams in a silver air Between the gold and the blue And wrapped them softly and left them there, My jewelled dreams of you. I had hoped to build a rainbow bridge Marrying the soil to the sky And sow in this dancing planet midge The moods of infinity. But too bright were our heavens, too far away, Too frail their ethereal stuff; Too splendid and sudden our light could not stay; The roots were not deep enough. He who would bring the heavens here Must descend himself into clay And the burden of earthly nature bear And tread the dolorous way. C

The Island Grave OceaOcean is there and evening; the slow moan Of the blue waves that like a shaken robe Two heard together once, one hears alone. Now gliding white and hushed towards our globe Keen January with cold eyes and clear And snowdrops pendent in each frosty lobe Ushers the firstborn of the radiant year. Haply his feet that grind the breaking mould, May brush the dead grass on thy secret bier, Haply his joyless fingers wan and cold Caress the ruined masses of thy hair, Pale child of winter, dead ere youth was old. Art thou so desolate in that bitter air That even his breath feels warm upon thy face? Ah,

SHORT POEMS 1895-1908 Invitation With wind and the weather beating round me Up to the hill and the moorland I go. Who will come with me? Who will climb with me? Wade through the brook and tramp through the snow? Not in the petty circle of cities Cramped by your doors and your walls I dwell; Over me God is blue in the welkin, Against me the wind and the storm rebel. I sport with solitude here in my regions, Of misadventure have made me a friend. Who would live largely? Who would live freely? Here to the wind-swept uplands ascend. I am the lord of tempest and mountain, I am the Spirit of freedom and pride

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