romantic poems

A sojourn of peace and safety, Sheer wine and a loving friend,
Now glory to God for favour, If Fortune to thee these send!

The world and its need and its fashions Are nothing in nothing all;
Nay, thousands of times this saying For truth have I proved and kenned.

Go, find thee a place of safety And reckon time's plunder gain;
For highwaymen lie in ambush For all in Life's way that wend.

Alas and alack that I knew not Till now that the one belov'd,
The Loved One, the sole elixir Of happiness is in the end!

So but of fortune backed I be, Hand on the Loved One's skirt I'll lay:
An if I win it, what delight! Yea, and what honour, if she slay!

Vantage of pity hath from none Gotten this hopeful heart of mine,
Albe my speech my tale of woes Unto all quarters doth convey.

Idols with hearts of stone how long Shall I with love and fondness tend?
Children unnatural, of the sire, Fondly that reared them, think not they.

Door of deliverance none for me Is there from that thine eyebrow's curve:

All compact of grace and beauty Is my loved one's moonlike face;
Love and faith, o Lord, vouchsafe her; For of these she hath no trace.

My heart-ravisher a child is; But she will some day in sport
Slay me abject and the canon Hold her guiltless of the case.

Best it were from her that straitly I my heart should guard; for she
Good and bad not yet hath proven, Knoweth worthy not from base.

I a fourteen-year-old idol Have, a fair one, slim and sweet,
Whose the full moon ring-in-ear is, Slave and bondman of her grace.

Caught in the wave of love and borne into the lover's presence.
My soul, as a maiden, with her lover finds joy, O Dadu Das.

Maiden and Lover are made one: for her the bridal bed is spread.
With her lover she tastes the sweets of love: Dadu how blest her lot.

O Dadu, the maiden with her body should render service to her Lord.
Inebriate with her lover's love, drinking deep of love's nectar.
O Dadu, the maid is perfect, perfect too the spouse.
From the union of perfections a perfect love flows forth.

I, unto whom Thou gavest To look on the Loved One's face,
How shall I thank Thee, Thy servants That fosterest of Thy grace?

Say to affliction's beggar, " Wipe not the dust from thy cheek;
" Th' elixir of life to the lover's The dust of the praying-place "

For one or two tears thou strewest In Fortune's highway, eye,
Full many's the look of kindness That thou on her cheek shalt trace.

Excepting the swain ablution With blood of the liver make,
His prayer, by the dict of the mufti Of Love, is void and base.

With Girdhar am I deep in love, O Lord, in love with Girdhar.

With the five colours dye my veil, my maidens: I go to play my part in the band of mummers.
There in the mumming my love will meet me: and Him will I embrace.

Prepare the lamp of understanding: set the wick of mind in it.
From the shop of love bring oil: tend the lamp's waking flame by night and day.

They whose loves live far away, writing and writing they send their missives.
Within her heart dwells Mira's love: No whither needs she go or come.

O East, by the Loved One's dwelling To fare deny thou not
And news to the wretched lover From there deny thou not.

In thanks that thou thus hast blossomed, O rose, to thy heart's desire,
To the bird of the morning union's Sweet air deny thou not.

Henceforth, since the fount of sweetness Thy lip of ruby is,
The parrot thy speech's sugar To share deny thou not.

The love of thee was my housemate, Whilst yet thou a new moon wast,
And now thou'rt at full, thy favour, O fair, deny thou not.

In all the clouds he sees her light robes trail,
And roses seem beholden to her face;
O'er scented balustrade the scented gale
Blows warm from Spring, and dew-drops form apace.
Her outline on the mountain he can trace,
Now leans she from the tower in moonlight pale.

A flower-girt branch grows sweeter from the dew.
A spirit of snow and rain unheeded calls.
Who wakes to memory in these palace walls?
Fei-yen!—but in the robes an Empress knew.

The most renowned of blossoms, most divine

The secret of the love of thee In this our brain still turneth.
Behold, how many a thing in this Our head insane still turneth!

If in thy tress-tip's mallet-crook A man his heart adventure,
Certes, ball-wise, from head to foot Awhirl, the swain still turneth.

Though that heart-charmer cruelly And falsely with us dealeth,
Natheless, our heart, to hope and faith True, in her train still turneth.

For heav'n's oppression and the rage Of Time, the shirt of patience
Upon my body to a vest, Rended in twain, still turneth.

Of thy love the young shoot Of amazement there cometh;
Of thine union the fruit Of amazement there cometh.

How many an one, plunged in the ocean of union,
To the nethermost root Of amazement there cometh!

Enjoyment abideth not, neither enjoyer,
Whereas the repute Of amazement there cometh

From what side soever whereunto I hearken,
The clamour and bruit Of amazement there cometh.

Nay, show me one heart, whereupon, in her pathway,
No mole, at the suit Of amazement, there cometh.