The Bride
Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers,
Jasmin, Hibiscus, vermillion and white,
This is the day, and the Hour of Hours,
Bring forth the Bride for her Lover's delight.
Maidens no more, as a maiden shall claim her,
Near, in his Mystery, draweth Desire.
Who, if she waver a moment, shall blame her?
She is a flower, and love is a fire.
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi![1]
Give her the anklets, the rings and the necklace,
Darken her eyelids with delicate Art,
Heighten the beauty, so youthful and fleckless,
By the Gods favoured, oh, Bridegroom thou art!
Twine in thy fingers her fingers so slender,
Circle together the Mystical Fire,
Bridegroom,—a whisper—be gentle and tender,
Choti Tinchaurya knows not desire.
Abhi Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Bring forth the silks and the veil that shall cover
Beauty, till yesterday, careless and wild,
- ↑ Anglice: Little Tinchaurya has grown up.
10
