An Aryan City* Coshala, by the Soroyou, a land Smiling at heaven, of riches measureless And corn abounding glad; in that great country Ayodhya was, the city world-renowned, Ayodhya by King Manou built, immense. Twelve yojans long the mighty city lay Grandiose and wide three yojans. Grandly spaced Ayodhya’s streets were and the long highroad Ran through it spaciously with sweet cool flowers Hourly new-paved and hourly watered wide. Dussarutha in Ayodhya, as in heaven Its natural lord, abode, those massive walls Ruling, and a great people in his name Felt greater, — door and wall and ponderous arch And market

SELECTED POEMS OF CHANDIDAS Selected Poems of Chandidas Love, but my words are vain as air! In my sweet joyous youth, a heart untried, Thou took’st me in Love’s sudden snare, Thou wouldst not let me in my home abide. And now I have nought else to try, But I will make my soul one strong desire And into Ocean leaping die: So shall my heart be cooled of all its fire. Die and be born to life again As Nanda’s son, the joy of Braja’s girls, And I will make thee Radha then, A laughing child’s face set with lovely curls. Then I will love thee and the

ON KARMA* Action be Man’s God Whom shall men worship ? The high Gods ? But they Suffer fate’s masteries, enjoy and rue. Whom shall men worship ? Fate’s stern godhead ? Nay, Fate is no godhead. Many fruits or few Their actions bring to men, — that settled price She but deals out, a steward dumb, precise. Let action be man’s God, o’er whom even Fate Can rule not, nor his puissance abrogate. The Might of Works Bow ye to Karma who with puissant hand Like a vast potter all the universe planned, Shut the Creator in and bade him work In the dim-glinting womb and luminous murk; By whom impelled

SELECTED POEMS OF NIDHU BABU Selected Poems of Nidhu Babu Eyes of the hind, you are my jailors, sweetest; My heart with the hind’s frightened motion fleetest In terror strange would flee, But find no issue, sweet; for thy quick smiling, Thy tresses like a net with threads beguiling Detain it utterly. I am afraid of thy great eyes and well-like, am afraid of thy small ears and shell-like, And everything in thee. Comfort my fainting heart with soft assurance And soon it will grow tame and love its durance, Hearing such melody. II Line not with

To the Cuckoo* 0 Cuckoo that peckest at the blossomed flower of honey-dripping Champaka and, inebriate, pipest forth the melodious notes, be seated in thy ease and with thy babblings, which are yet no babblings, call out for the coming of my Lord of the Venkata hill. For He, the pure one, bearing in his left hand the white summoning conch shows me not his form. But He has invaded my heart; and while I pine and sigh for his love, He looks on indifferent as if it were all a play. I feel as if my bones had melted away and my long javelin eyes have not closed their lids for these many days. I am tossed on the waves of the sea of pain without finding the boat that is n

ON FOOLS AND FOLLY Love’s Folly             She with whom all my thoughts dwell, is averse— She loves another. He whom she desires             Turns to a fairer face. Another worse       For me afflicted is with deeper fires.             Fie on my love and me and him and her!             Fie most on Love, this madness’ minister! The Middle Sort             Easily shalt thou the ignorant appease;                         The wise more easily is satisfied;                         But one who builds his raw and foolish pride             On a little lore not God himself can please. Obstinacy in Folly         

Mother India* India, my India, where first human eyes awoke to heavenly light, All Asia's holy place of pilgrimage, great Motherland of might! World-mother, first giver to humankind of philosophy and sacred lore, Knowledge thou gav'st to man. God-love, works, art, religion's opened door. India, my India, who dare call thee a thing for pity's grace today? Mother of wisdom, worship, works, nurse of the spirit's inward ray! To thy race, 0 India, God himself once sang the Song of Songs divine, Upon thy dust Gouranga danced and drank God-love's mysterious wine, Here the Sannyasin Son of Kings lit up compassion's deathless sun, The youthful Yogin, Shankar. taught thy gospel:

The New Creator* You rose in India, 0 glorious in contemplation, 0 Sun; Illuminator of the vast ocean of life. Clarioning the new Path of an unstumbling progression. You have dug up the immense, sombre bedrock of the earth's ignorance, And sought to unite in eternal marriage the devotion of the heart and the Force of life. We bow to you, Sri Aurobindo, 0 Sun of the New Age, Bringer of the New Light! May India, irradiated by your rays, become the Light-house of the world! To the country which, by losing its soul-mission, had lost the rhythm of its life's advance,

FROM GREEK AND LATIN On A Satyr and Sleeping Love* Me whom the purple mead that Bromius owns And girdles rent of amorous girls did please, Now the inspired and curious hand decrees That waked quick life in these quiescent stones,  To yield thee water pure. Thou lest the sleep Yon perilous boy unchain, more softly creep. * Plato Page - 411

Since thou hast called me* Since thou hast called me, see that I Go not from thee, — surrounding me stand. In thy own love's diviner way Make me too love thee without end. My fathomless blackness hast thou cleft With thy infinity of light, Then waken in my mortal voice Thy music of illumined sight. Make me thy eternal journey's mate, Tying my life around thy feet. Let thy own hand my boat unmoor, Sailing the world thy self to meet. Fill full of thee my day and night, Let all my being mingle with thine, And every tremor of my soul Echo thy Flut