Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/57

⁠She cooled her dry lips in the laibbling stream,
And lived on Amrit from the pale moon-beam,
Sometimes in hunger culling from the tree
The rich ripe fruit that hung so temptingly.
⁠Scorched by the fury of the noon-tide rays.
And fires that round her burned with ceaseless blaze,
Summer passed o'er her—rains of Autumn came
And throughly drenched the Lady's tender frame,
So steams the earth, when mighty torrents pour
On thirsty fields all dry and parched before.
⁠The first clear rain-drops falling on her brow,
Gem it one moment with their light, and now
Kissing her sweet lip find a welcome rest
In the deep valley of the Lady's breast;
Then wander broken by the fall within
The mazy channels of her dimpled skin.
⁠There as she lay upon her rocky bed.
No sumptuous roof above her gentle head.
Dark Night, her only witness, turned her eyes,
Red lightnings flashing from the angry skies,
And gazed upon her voluntary pain,
In wind, in sleet, in thunder, and in rain.
⁠Still lay the Maiden on the cold damp ground.
Though blasts of winter hurled their snows around,
Still pitying in her heart the mournful fate
Of those poor birds, so fond, so desolate,—
Doomed, hapless pair, to list each other's moan
Through the long hours of night, sad and alone!
⁠Chilled by the rain, the tender Lotus sank,—
She filled its place upon the streamlet's bank;
Sweet was her breath as when that lovely flower
Sheds its best odour in still evening's hour;