Whether I loved you who shall say?
Whether I drifted down your way
In the endless River of Chance and Change,
And you woke the strange
Who does not feel desire unending
To solace through his daily strife,
With some mysterious Mental Blending,
The hungry loneliness of life?
Song by Valgovind
The fields are full of Poppies, and the skies are very blue,
By the Temple in the coppice, I wait, Beloved, for you.
Do you ever think of me? you who died
Ere our Youth's first fervour chilled,
With your soft eyes and your pulses stilled
When I am dying, lean over me tenderly, softly,
Stoop, as the yellow roses droop in the wind from the South.
Beloved! your hair was golden
As tender tints of sunrise,
As corn beside the River
Ah, the cool silence of the shaded hours,
The scent and colour of the jungle flowers!
I, who of lighter love wrote many a verse,
Made public never words inspired by thee,
Lest strangers' lips should carelessly rehearse
Give me your self one hour; I do not crave
For any love, or even thought, of me.
Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave