THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS.
97
And loose thy jewelled girdle
A little, that its rubies
May tinkle softest music too,
And whisper thou art near;
Though now, if in the forest
Thou should'st bend one blade of Kushia
With silken touch of passing foot,
His heart would know and hear;
Would hear the wood-buds saying,
"It is Radha's foot that passes;"
Would hear the wind sigh love-sick,
"It is Radha's fragrance, this;"
Would hear thine own heart beating
Within thy panting bosom,
And know thee coming, coming,
His—ever,—ever—his!
A little, that its rubies
May tinkle softest music too,
And whisper thou art near;
Though now, if in the forest
Thou should'st bend one blade of Kushia
With silken touch of passing foot,
His heart would know and hear;
Would hear the wood-buds saying,
"It is Radha's foot that passes;"
Would hear the wind sigh love-sick,
"It is Radha's fragrance, this;"
Would hear thine own heart beating
Within thy panting bosom,
And know thee coming, coming,
His—ever,—ever—his!
Mine!"—hark! we are near enough for hearing—
"Soon she will come—she will smile—she will say
Honey-sweet words of heavenly endearing;
O soul! listen; my Bride is on her way!"
"Soon she will come—she will smile—she will say
Honey-sweet words of heavenly endearing;
O soul! listen; my Bride is on her way!"
