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I was shifting slowly back to Buddhism; though even more impatient than before of Buddhists, their 
parochial morality and their emphasis on the evils of existence. But I wrote a few lyrics about love 
and nature which are still among my best. I may mention "The Song". 
Dance a measure 
....Of the tiniest whirls! 
Shake out your treasure 
....Of cinnamon curls! 
Tremble with pleasure 
....O wonder of girls! 
Rest is bliss, 
....And bliss is rest, 
Give me a kiss 
....If you love me best! 
Hold me like this 
....With my hand on your breast! 
There was also "Said", inspired by my week in Cairo: "Patchouli", a shot of rhapsody upon African 
and Asiatic themes; "The Jilt", a piece of sadistic exultation over my wife's cruelty to Howell, who 
we heard was stricken to the heart by the thunderbolt of her marriage. Then there was "The Eyes of 
Pharaoh", a terrific presentation of the mystery of Egypt, and "Benzai", a poem in praise of Japan, 
then at was with Russia. There was a new note in my work: that of humour. "The Beauty and the 
Bikkhu" is a versification of a Buddhist legend. The original is unconsciously funny, and I brought this 
out, while preserving the sublimity of the story. Again "Immortality" develops an idea in the Gorgias 
of Plato that after death one goes on doing very much what one did before. The style is at once 
passionate, pictorial, and terrifying and witty. 
Another new string to my lyre; I had been reproaching myself for my ignorance of the Sufi doctrines, 
and intended to cross Persia on my way back to England. For this purpose I began to study the 
language with a munshi. I began to imitate the poets of Iran. "Ali and Hassan" is a paraphrase from 
Alf Laylah Wa Laylah. "Al Malik" is a ghazal; that is, a series of couplets 
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with a monorime. The first two lines and each successive even line rime with each other. In 
Darjeeling (on my return) I had had a brief but intense liaison with a Napali girl, Tenbuft. I 
celebrated this passion in a rondel "Tarshitering". 
NEPALI LOVE SONG 
O kissable Tarshitering! The wild bird calls its mate --- and I? 
Come to my tent this night of May, and cuddle close and crown me king! 
Drink, drink or fill of love at last -- a little while and we shall die, 
O kissable Tarshitering! 
Droop the long lashes; close the eyes with eyelids like beetle's wing! Light the slow smile, 
ephemeral as ever a painted butterfly, Certain to close into a kiss, certain to fasten on me and 
sting! 
Nay? Are you coy? hen I will catch your hips and hold you wild and shy Until your very struggles set 
your velvet buttocks all a-sqing, Until their music lulls you to unfathomable ecstasy, O kissible 
Tarshitering! 
I must explain that oriental modesty does not allow the selfrespecting poet to introduce the name 
of a woman, just as in Shakespeare's time it was considered scandalous for a woman to appear on 
the stage. I respected this convention and replaced the name of Tenguft by a male name, which I 
thought euphonious and suitable to my scheme of time and scansion.