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The Curse at Farewell
THE CURSE AT FAREWELL
O'ershowered, your throat with young buds garlanded,
In robe of silk, your forehead touched with red
Of sandal-paste. A frank and winning smile
Played in your eyes. There in a forest- aisle,
You stood in flowers
KACH
And you, your body swathed In nets of long, wet tresses, newly bathed, I saw—the faultless, white-limbed Dawn- Queen—stund, A glory-flooded form, alone. Your hand A basket filled with buds of worship bore. “ Goddess,' these flowers ”—I humbly "gan implore—
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