Selected Poems
of
CHANDIDAS
I
LOVE, but my words are vain as air!
In my sweet joyous youth, a heart untried,
Thou took’st me in Love’s sudden snare,
Thou wouldst not let me in my home abide.
And now I have nought else to try,
But I will make my soul one strong desire
And into Ocean leaping die:
So shall my heart be cooled of all its fire.
Die and be born to life again
As Nanda’s son, the joy of Braja’s girls,
And I will make thee Radha then,
A laughing child’s face set with lovely curls.
Then I will love thee and then leave;
Under the codome’s boughs when thou goest by
Bound to the water morn or eve,
Lean on that tree fluting melodiously.
Thou shalt hear me and fall at sight
Under my charm; my voice shall wholly move
Thy simple girl’s heart to delight;
Then shalt thou know the bitterness of love.
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II
O LOVE, what more shall I, shall Radha speak,
Since mortal words are weak?
In life, in death,
In being and in breath
No other lord but thee can Radha seek.
About thy feet the mighty net is wound
Wherein my soul they bound;
Myself resigned
To servitude my mind;
My heart than thine no sweeter slavery found.
I, Radha, thought; through the three worlds my gaze
I sent in wild amaze;
I was alone.
None called me "Radha!", none;
I saw no hand to clasp, no friendly face.
I sought my father’s house; my father’s sight
Was empty of delight;
No tender friend
Her loving voice would lend;
My cry came back unanswered from the night.
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Therefore to this sweet sanctuary I brought
My chilled and shuddering thought.
Ah, suffer, sweet,
To thy most faultless feet
That I should cling unchid; ah, spurn me not!
Spurn me not, dear, from thy beloved breast.
A woman weak, unblest.
Thus let me cling,
Thus, thus about my king
And thus remain caressing and caressed.
I, Radha, thought; without my life’s sweet lord,
—Strike now thy mightiest chord—
I had no power
To live one simple hour;
His absence slew my soul as with a sword.
If one brief moment steal thee from mine eyes,
My heart within me dies.
As girls who keep
The treasures of the deep,
I string thee round my neck and on my bosom prize.
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III
O HEART, my heart, a heavy pain is thine!
What land is that where none doth know
Love’s cruel name nor any word of sin?
My heart, there let us go.
Friend of my soul, who then has called love sweet?
Laughing I called from heavenly spheres
The sweet love close; he came with flying feet
And turned my life to tears.
What highborn girl, exiling virgin pride,
Has wooed love to her with a laugh?
His fires shall burn her as in harvest-tide
The mowers burn the chaff.
O heart, my heart, merry thy sweet youth ran
In fields where no love was; thy breath
Is anguish, since his cruel reign began.
What other cure but death?
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