Narayan Hore Poems

In the mundane darkness of the morn,
The world awakened in its scorn,
Writes the weary pen on pages torn,
Tales of castles and mysteries forlorn.
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O silent, silent Moon!
Teach me thy silent ways,
O teach me how love love defrays -
Besides thy silver-scented shoon.
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Here lies One whose name was writ in water-
 
O Delphic streams washing aged tombs by!
A single glance spare when violets cry
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It's been long years at college; I see
Where aspirations higher be,
Here art its own art fine demeans,
Does knowledge at her misuse kneel
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Perhaps this July Moon shall wander no more.
The ever radiant object of this still sky,
Flyeth no more, nor feign sympathy's cry,
But remains present within deep heart's core.
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I have heard, the look of a starlit night
Moved men to raptures; I never had felt
Such aweful serene, until once I met
One brighteous moon, in whose warmness thought
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Satyavan Uprose. On his twirled lips

Rose petals fell. The lap of Savitri
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Life-sprouter Sun! Thou showered forth thy rays
On this tiny seedling that timid lays,
Beneath the loam clayed soil for umpteen days;
Before thy light like a blessing poured all
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The sun shines high above the vales,
The spring flower seemeth to tell tales,
If winter comes, I'll in your arms rest,
When morning awakens, thy beauty shines best.
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The Sun was Cold.
Between two shafts of clouds
The moisture hung pale and sad; the sound
Of mountain music had swept his sense. Here
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