Indian Poetry Engelska 2003

The sky is clouded; and the wood resembles The sky,thick-arched with black Tamala boughs; O Radha, Radha! take thisSoul, that trembles In life's deep midnight, to Thy golden house.So Nanda spoke,--and, led by Radha's spirit, The feet of Krishnafound the road aright; Wherefore, in bliss which all high heartsinherit, Together taste they Love's divine delight. _He who wrote these things for thee, Of the Son of Wassoodee,Was the poet Jayadeva; Him Saraswati gave ever Fancies fair hismind to throng, Like pictures palace-walls along; Ever to his notesof love Lakshmi's mystic dancers move. If thy spirit seeks to broodOn Hari glorious, Hari good; If it feeds on solemn numbers. Dim asdreams and soft as slumbers, Lend thine ear to Jayadev, Lord of allthe spells that save. Umapatidhara's strain Glows like roses afterrain; Sharan's stream-like song is grand, If its tide yeunderstand; Bard more wise beneath the sun Is not found thanGovardhun; Dhoyi holds the listener still With his shlokes ofsubtle skill; But for sweet words suited well Jayadeva doth excel._