Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/128

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WILLIAM WATERFIELD.

The whirlwind, like a furnace blast,
Sweeps clouds of darkening sand;
The forest flames; the beasts aghast
Plunge huddling from the land.
Come, Krishna! come, beloved one!
Descend and comfort me:
The lotus loves the summer sun,
And I love thee.

With dancing feet glad pea-fowl greet
Bright flash and rumbling cloud;
Down channels steep red torrents sweep;
The frogs give welcome loud;
From branch and spray hang blossoms gay;
The wood has second birth;
No stars in skies, but lantern-flies
Seem stars that float to earth.
Come, Krishna! in our day of gloom
Be thou our Kalpa tree:
The wild bee loves the Padma bloom,
And I love thee.

The skies are bright with cloudless light,
Like silver shells that float;
The stars and moon loom large by night;
The lilies launch their boat;
Fair laughs the plain with ripened grain;
With birds resounds the brake:
Along the sand white egrets stand;
The wild fowl fill the lake.
Come, Krishna! let thy servants soon
Thy perfect beauty see:
The water-lily loves the moon.
And I love thee.

The morning mist lies close and still;
The hoar-frost gems the lea;
The dew falls chill; the wind blows shrill;
The leaves have left the tree;