THE FATAL FORCE 5 3
Glow from his palace, as the sun
Leaps to the spring, whose coursers run
Flaming before their golden master,
As death and winter and disaster
Fall from the Archer’s bitter kiss
Fast to their mute abyss.
The pale sweet blooms of lotos burn ;
The scent of spring is in the soul;
Men’s spirits to the loftiest turn;
Light is extended and made whole.
The waters of the whispering Nile
Lisp of their loves a little while,
Then break, like songsters, into sighing,
Because the lazy days are dying;
And swift and tawny streams must rise
World’s world to fertilise.
The lotos is afire for love,
Its yearnings are immortal still ;
But in its bosom, fed thereof,
Lust, like a child, will have his will.
Immortal fervour, strangely blent
With mystic sensual sacrament,
Fills up its cup; its petals tremble
With faint desires that dissemble
The fierce intention to be wed,
One with the spring sun’s head.
The fountains of the river yearn
Toward the sacred temple-walis,