Short Poems

O Lord, Thou art the poor man's guardian.
Thou, O Lord, without aversion lookest upon Thy servant's state.
None vile as I, Lord, in the world; as the ship that bears my fame art Thou.
For naught else have I one longing: Thy Name's refuge is my care.
Of this poor Dulam Das be guardian, O Lord, Jagjivan Mighty King.

Some water-fowl, and in the midst
Of withered trees two palanquins.

We scurry over the pastures
chasing the windstrewn oak-leaves.

We kiss
the fresh petals of cowslips and primroses.

We discover frog-spawn in the wet ditch.

Sunshine and shadow play amid the trees
In bosky groves, while from the vivid sky
The sun's gold arrows fleck the fields at noon,
Where weary cattle to their slumber hie.
How sweet the music of the purling rill,
Trickling adown the grassy hill!
While dreamy fancies come to give repose
When the first star of evening glows.

A single river, stretching far
Across the moorland swathed in snow.

Willow leaves fallen,
the clear stream gone—
stones here and there.

Crossing a summer
stream—what fun!
sandals in hand.

Princes be fortunes children, & with them
she deales as mothers vse their babes to still:
Vnto her darlings giues a diadem,
A pretie toy their humor to fulfill.
And when a little they haue had their will,
Looke what she gaue she taketh at her pleasure:
Vsinge the rod when they are out of measure.

The isles hold thee not, thou departed!
From thy bower, now issues no lay:—
In vain we recall perished warblings:
Spring birds, to far climes, wing their way!

Thy praise or dispraise is to me alike;
One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike.