Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/37

Now the bright Day-God turned his burning ray
To where Kuvera holds his royal sway,
While the sad South in whispering breezes sighed
And mourned his absence like a tearful bride.
⁠Then from its stem the red Asoka threw
Full buds and flowerets of celestial hue,
Nor waited for the Maiden's touch, the sweet
Beloved pressure of her tinkling feet;
There grew Love's an-ow, his dear Mango spray,
Winged with young leaves to speed its airy way,
And at the call of Spring the wild bees came.
Grouping the syllables of Káma's name.
⁠How sighed the spirit o'er that loveliest flower
That boasts no fragrance to enrich its dower!
For Nature, wisest mother, oft prefers
To part more fairly those good gifts of hers—
There from the tree Palasa blossoms spread,
Curved like the crescent Moon, their rosiest red.
With opening buds that looked as if young Spring
Had pressed his nails there in his dallying—
Sweet wanton Spring, to whose enchanting face
His flowery Tilaka gave fairer grace—
Who loves to tint his lip, the Mango spray,
With the fresh colours of the early day.
And powder its fine red with many a bee
That sips the oozing nectar rapturously.
⁠The cool gale speeding o'er the shady lawns
Shook down the sounding leaves, while startled fawns
Ran wildly at the viewless foe, all blind
With pollen wafted by the fragrant wind.
⁠Sweet was the Koil's voice—his neck still red
With Mango buds on which he just had fed—