THE FUGITIVE
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11
Neither mother nor daughter are you, nor bride, Urvashi.[1] Woman you are, to ravish the soul of Paradise.
When weary-footed evening comes down to the folds whither the cattle have returned, you never trim the house lamps nor walk to the bridal bed with a tremulous heart and a wavering smile on your lips, glad that the dark hours are so secret.
Like the dawn you are without veil, Urvashi, and without shame.
Who can imagine that aching overflow of splendour which created you!
You rose from the churned ocean on the first day of the first spring, with the cup of life in your right hand and poison in your left. The monster sea, lulled like an enchanted snake, laid down its thousand hoods at your feet.
- ↑ The dancing girl of Paradise who rose from the sea.
