cousins j_surya-gita (sun songs) the garland of life & moulted feathers (1922)

7/29/2019 Cousins J_Surya-Gita (Sun Songs) the Garland of Life & Moulted Feathers (1922)

1/168


2/168

C?0rn0U IttiuBtHitg SihrargStlfacu. ^tm fork

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THESAGE ENDOWMENT FUNDTHE GIFT OF

HENRY W. SAGE1891


3/168

Cornell University LibraryPR 6005.O94S9Surya-gita (sun songs) together with sec

3 1924 013 601 129


4/168

Cornell UniversityLibrary

The original of tliis book is intine Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions inthe United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3601 1 29


5/168

SURYA-GITA


6/168

BOOKS OF POETRYBY THE SAME AUTHOR

Ben Madighan 1894Sung by Six (Collaborated) 1896The Legend of the Blemished King 1897The Voice of One 1900The Quest 1906The Awakening 1907The Bell-Branch 1910Etain the Beloved 1912Straight and Crooked 1915The Garland of Life 1917Ode to Truth 1919Moulted Feathers 1919The King's Wife (A Drama) 1919Sea-Change 1920Surya-Gita 1922


7/168

SURYA-GITA(sun songs)

TOGETHER WITHSECOND EDITIONS OF

' THE GARLAND OF LIFE 'AND ' MOULTED FEATHERS '

JAMES HT COUSINS^

GANESH & CO., MADRAS1922


8/168

\'E>%G%S\THE GARLAND OF LIFE

First Edition 1917. Second Edition 1922MOULTED FEATHERS

First Edition 1919. Second Edition 1922SURYA-GITA

First Edition 1922


9/168

CONTENTSTHE GARLAND OF LIFE

PAGETo Francis Sheehy-Skeffington ... 3A Hymn to the Song Goddess .... 6The Higher Stoicism . . . . . .15Flight . . . . ' 18A One-sided Conversation with a Field-mouse

.

21The Haunted House 25Love in the Highest 28Fugitive Love 30The Spendthrift .31To the Still-born Child of a Friend ... 32The Shadowy Comrade 33The Sword of the Lord 35Castles in Spain 37Birds at Sea 39To Sarojini Naidu 41A Song in Praise of Earth 44A Song at Dawn 50The Banyan Tree 52Balance 54Unity 56


10/168

VIPAGE

To Rabindranath Tagore 58After a Lady had Played on the Vina , . 60Indian Paraphrases

A Gopi-Song to Sri Krishna ... 62The Mystic Chum .64The Bargain S5Xhe Seven Arrows 68Nala Makes a Mistake .... 67The Devotee 69The Holy Dance 71The Garland of Life 73

MOULTED FEATHERSMoulted Feathers 77The Snent Pool 78A Deserted Nest 79Song 80Love Antiphonal 81Late Monsoon 83Tides 84The Coin 85The Poet to his Alter Ego 86The Taj Mahal 89Farewell 96Clay 99Realisation 103


11/168

Vll

SURYA-GITAPAGE

To Kathleen-ni-Houlihan 107Surya-Gita (Sun Songs) :

Gorgeous Lies 108The Miser and the Coin . . . .110The Giant and the Pomegranate . .111The Prodigal's Return . . . , 113

Moon MelodiesWorship 114Eclipse 116

A Dead Scarab 118Bitter and Sweet 121A Merwoman 123A Flower-Offering ' 124Myopia 125The Poet Refuses to Part with his Youth . .127A Song of Stillness 129A Hymn to Beneficent Beauty.... 132A Hymn to Destructive Beauty . . . 134Installation Ode 136


12/168


13/168

THE GARLAND OF LIFE

First Edition 1917.Second Edition 1922.


14/168


15/168

DEDICATIONTO FRANCIS SHEEHY-SKEFFINGTON

When with dark wrongs we waged our strife,I found you fure, past praise or frown ;But in the blinding light of lifeSaw not your hovering martyr-crown ;Nor dreamed that when in April showersNew life's green banners were unfurled,You in the clash of iron powersShould fall, andJ falling, shake the world !O friend ! forgive these eyes that farHeld me from measure of your height ;Nor saw that in your war with warYou of your end had inward sight.And heard round your vicarious headGod's thunders to the nations call ." Life is not nourished on the deadWho take the sword, by sword shall fall ! "


16/168

THE GARLAND OF LIFEOh ! honour fawns about your feet ;For you, with but a breath to live,Let not death's bitter mar life's sweet,But stood as One who said, " Forgive,Father ; they know not what they do IEre the reluctant rifles cried(Nay, to new life saluted !) youOn their blind error smiled, and died.Yea, and upon our shattering griefYou smile in knowledge deeper grown,Saying, " You count my life a leafBy some dark wind to darkness blown :It is not so !" And there you leaveThe fact, and to new labours goA soul one-purposeful, to weaveLove's garment for the stark world's woe.Surely in that exalted placeWhere lauding Seraphs round you press.Some wistfulness will cross your faceShadowed from our heart-loneliness.Yea, you some hollowness willfindIn their flame-blinded praise of Him ;Our strife in darkness call to mind.And slip between the Cherubim


17/168


18/168

A HYMN TO THE SONG GODDESSI

Mother of Song and Singers ! Mother of meNo less than those made freeOf all thy realm of sea and earth and air.Wherein, with feet in life set strongly fair,With hands by noon or midnight splendours

filled,They, for thine image here, a godlike dwelling

build :Mother of Singers ! Mother of me no less,Although these handsLift no sharp trumpet blown for warlike bandsTo rise, to march, to pressThrough flame and smokeBeleaguered walls, or in the wildernessConjure from sterile sandsThe loud and populous landsBegotten of the deep :


19/168


20/168

8 THE GARLAND OF LIFEBrigid, Mother-mysteryWrapped in Light that darkens dayThree in name ;but one the WordIndia, Greece and Ireland heard.

thou, Bright Arrow from the unseen Bow 1Mystic daughter of the Light,Bride of all-containing Night,And of thy spouse the foe !Thy barb is fixed in thy true lover's breast.Thou woo'st him from the depths, yet on the

crestThou slippest into silence, lest, in theeLosing himself, thou lose a needed noteOut of the multitudinous throatOf thy celestial harmonyOr, while his lips thy salutation win,He lose thy soul within.

IllMother of Song and Singers ! in hours repleteWith joy, have we not cried with emptinessOf the filled void, and longed and longed to

pressBehind the flying music of thy feet


21/168


22/168


23/168


24/168


25/168


26/168


27/168


28/168

16 THE GARLAND OF LIFEPowers men deny, or darkly pray,Have touched me in the full of day.And though the Why and Whence be dark,And questions Whitherward availNo jot, I feel behind my barqueA homing wind is in the sail.What fellow-travellers crowd the airI know, and cast away despair.I cannot hold it grievous doomThat Source and End are out of sightRather give thanks that these have roomTo pull us past our Ring of NightTwain-faced, but single-purposed bothTo tease the soul from sensual sloth.

Wherefore it is not mine to raiseThe chant of Passing and RevoltWith prophets of chill coming daysIn which their birds of passion moult.I give, for glooms in which they live,The young-eyed Soul's affirmative.They miss the forest-secret quiteWhose eyes are fixed on branch or bole.They only read Fate's book aright


29/168

THE HIGHER STOICISM 17Who not in fragments seek the whole,But feel the sap from life's deep rootFlow on to feed sky-hidden fruit.Thought-free from every burning hour,They sure may find cool space to fillTheir heart's deep urn from wells of powerWhose draught has grace to heal, and thrillWith gentleness their stoic handWho stand because they understand.


30/168


31/168

FLIGHT 19Like a flake of dayBlown across the wondering darkTill my spark *Lengthens, flickers into tails,Shakes and fails.And I waken with a startAt my heart.And as now in sunset raysOn you I gaze, and gaze, and gaze,I begin to thinkI feel the round world sinkAnd I leave the ground, I riseThrough my dazzled eyesTo become a part of you.Of the very jumping heart of you,The fearless outward spring of you,The spread glad wing of you.Bird, bird ! that nowLeaves the beechen bough.See mb, see me panting at your sideSwimming down the swirling flashing

sunset tide

Alas!In the whispering grass


32/168

20 THE GARLAND OF LIFEI am spreadAs one dead.OverheadYou are but a torquoise gleamChuckling at my fallen dream.Yet I seemIn my mind to find the printOf a hintOf a deep-infolded PowerThat shall flowerNot alone to flightAt your cloudy height,But along a singing wayThrough and past the cage of clayYea a Power that yet will spreadRainbow wings of Godlihead,When the inner has come out.Routing DoubtRouting Doubt's twin-hearted wraith,Blindman FaithWhen we leave controlWith the Soul,(Wisdom's goal,)And have wrought with will unshakingAll our dreaming into waking.


33/168

A ONE-SIDED CONVERSATIONWITH A FIELD-MOUSE

You pass me like a deeper shadeOf twilight, where I musing lieIn grass and hedge's mingling jade.Then stop, and with a beady eyeSearch me, till something in me stirsTo give you look for look, and seeYour secret, under spectral firs,Faced by our mutual mystery.Time was when in my childhood's daysIt was a fearful thing to lieIn a wild creature's winkless gaze.Dumb strangeness holding eye to eyeBut love and wisdom found the linkSlowly in vision's opened book :Our thoughts are shadows of one ThinksOur eyes are fragments of one Look.


34/168

22 THE GARLAND OF LIFESo, past these prisoning hands and feet,Blent in the Spirit, equal, free.Deep in one Being we may meet,And touch a purer ecstasy

Than the loud storm of kindred bloodThat strains to mingling, mad and blind,Or the fantastic echoing floodIn shifting channels of the mind.Yea, through far strangeness we may restIn nearness that would miss our kenWere I a mouse to claim your nest.Or you a man who preyed on menLo, now across our sundering groovesThere comes a power that shakes us free.In you some prophet impulse moves,Some hidden retrospect in meAnd where our pathways meet andmerge.We pierce the myth of earth and sky,

And mingle on the fluctuant vergeWhere lives, in one vast Living, die.That was a link of midnight snapped !Now revelation, clearly terse.Shows us as wild-heart creatures trapped


35/168

A ONE-SIDED CONVERSATION 23Within the shuttered universe.Yet for our solace we may smile,Since He who our immurement wroughtPulls on Himself the sky's huge pile.And fast in His own trap is caughtAnd all those brazen-headed starsAre nails that hold His wrestling Powers,Nor shall He slip His prison barsWhile you and I are held in oursFor (mystery, of light assuredIn times far off we both shall see,)Himself with us He has immuredWe are not parts of Him, but HeYea He, the Lion of the World,Shares here our hunger and our droughtWith us in life's vast net is curled,And we must slowly gnaw Him out.For this the wheels of being turn ;For this the seer and the moleAnd you and I with ardours burnCaught palely from the labouring SoulThat beats upon life's yielding gates,And shreds the veil by midnight drawn,And, confidently calm, awaitsThe slow disclosure of the Dawn.


36/168


37/168


38/168


39/168

THE HAUNTED HOUSE 27No rest from labour, sound and sweet,Night to the builder shall accord.But on his maddened brain shall beatThe fairy hammers of the Lord !

He wokeand wondered whence the guiltThat through his being seemed to sound.Then up he got, his house unbuilt,And built again the fairies' mound.And when his whispering neighbours drewA sign that called him foolish-brained.He smiled, because within he knewA deeper wisdom he had gained.


40/168


41/168

LOVE IN THE HIGHEST 29And found the quenchless fires that beatBeneath slow age's gathering rime.Dear ! we have stilled the heart's wild strifeIn ecstasy of Love's repose.The rose has faded out of life,For life itself is now the Rose !


42/168


43/168


44/168

TO THE STILL-BORN CHILDOF A FRIEND

Little barque that never knewSea-made music round your prowMorn that died before its dewAgeless thing untimed by NowWind that never stirred to breathDoor shut fast on rumours rife ;You, who have not tasted life,Cannot know the sweet of death !Ah ! pale poet, on your tongueSilence is the loudest word.Ageing not, since never young ;Chanting like a hidden birdPeace conies deeper from your strife ;(Thus to us the Silence saith)Not till you have tasted deathCan you know the sweet of life !


45/168


46/168

34 THE GARLAND OF LIFEBut in sweet hope shall haunt her heavenlyways,A shadowy comrade on her path to bliss.


47/168

THE SWORD OF THE LORDLord.! for the pride that boasted, " In hold ireWield we the Sword of the Lord," let not thybrow

Blast us in wrath.Who trieth the nationsbut Thou,Thou whose Name as of old is Consuming

Fire?For the pigmy reach of the soul's enforced

desire,(The virtue dared in face of the threateningNow),

Thou through our dreams hast driven Thyquickening plough

To stir our inanimate clay to Thy purposenigher."Give peace," we pray, "give peace in our

time, Lord ! "But first give wisdom, deeper than deed orword,


48/168


49/168


50/168


51/168

BIRDS AT SEACriss-crossing our wake along the blueMediterranean Sea,Wings agleam in the sunrays flewSwiftly and tirelessly.

*' Petrels, prophets of storm," said some."Swallows," said others, "from war-lands

come,Sick of sulphur and death-winged hum,Seeking a summer of peace."Soon may their seeking cease

But I, keen-sighted, clearly knewThey held not to land or sea.But were bodied out of the thoughts that flew.Dear friends ! the love-winged thoughts from

you


52/168


53/168

TO SAROJINI NAIDUFrom a lion great in deathHoney came, a scripture saith.Yea, and out of ancient songSweetness cometh from the strongNames that move, but cannot pass,Sappho, Dante, Kalidas,And their singing kindred . . . Still,Though we climb a lesser hill,There are hidden heights to scaleReckoned not in classic taleAnd on singers of our timeWaits a subtler power of rhymeThat can raise a fairy windLaying all the ghosts of mind.Gaudy doubts that bend the kneeTo a moment's ecstasy.


54/168

42 THE GARLAND OF LIFESuch a "wind has moved your wings.Bird that from life's prison sings !Caged familiar of the skiesIn "whose spirit-lighied eyesIndia's wisdom, deep and long.Blossoms lightly into song.Crowning with a deathless crownYou who sang death's menace down.And in lyric joy displayedStrength in weakness perfect made.

Though not yours the sounding wingPoised on splendid questioning.Or the massy music lentBy a ruder instrumentBlaring all the foolish strife'Twixt those lovers. Death and Life ;Yours is song in skyey flightUnlaborious as the light.Mixed with golden music wonFrom soul-nearness to the sun.Native to a coming dayFar upon our human wayWhen in eyes of all shall shineWhat is prophecy in thine.


55/168

TO SAROJINI NAIDU 43Wherefore, songstress, on our tongueGrieffor song you might have sungPerishes in thankfulnessFor the gift wherewith you blessThis our dayno strained, profoundChant in caverns underground,Nor the sweetness of the strongEchoed out of ancient song.But (for loss our deeper gain)Sweeter sweetness born of pain.


56/168


57/168


58/168

46 THE GARLAND OF LIFEWhat matter ? 'Twixt the dawn and nightAll's home where there is wind and sun.And time for frolic, space for flight,And what-may-be when flight is done !

IVHow shrewdly comes from hedge and treeRebuke from many a sounded fifeTo those who, looking, never see,And, too much living, miss great Life ;Who, snatching Wealth's


59/168

A SONG IN PRAISE OF EARTH 47No need hath she for wreaths of songThat boast them her interpreters.Nay, far more fitly is it hersTo lay her prophet-length alongOur deadness, and to meaning raiseThe corpse of crowded empty days,And set against our shrill uneaseHer ancient quiet certainties." Put by," she counsels, " would you live,Shed garments of the buried years.New day must day's new garment giveNor, spite of backward-glancing tears.Can you take comfort from the oldIf you would sight the Age of Gold.Know that alone you proudly castThe gage of war for this,to holdOut of your tuneless iron ageSome relic of the mouldered past.Some squalid sacred privilege.Oh ! wiselier far my vagrants goWho daily take with youthful laughThe immortal Pilgrim's bowl and staff,And, reading well my secret, knowThat Joy takes never Peace to wifeWhile death usurps the place of life.From grasping thought my pilgrims part.


60/168

48 THE GARLAND OF LIFEAnd down love's pathways pure and plainThey reach, beyond the sundering brain,The instant nuptials of the heart."

VI

Lo, unto eyes whose gaze is true,She momently makes all things newChangeless through change doth lightly pass.Behold, the dry bent blade of grassWhose shade and substance made a square,Now rounds its shadow to ellipse ;And through a myriad thrilling tipsHer reach is onward everywhere,Timing to dance of sun and sodThe young adventuring of God.Yea, and though all (when all is done)Behind their myriad shapes be one,No truer wisdom through our daysWill straighten out our devious waysTo where beyond the shadowy FatesWe shall have speech with One who waits.Than this,to thank the God whose gracePut eyes within our forward face,Pathfinding for the runner SoulNot back to start, but on to goal.


61/168

A SONG IN PRAISE OF EARTH 49VII

Who finds this wisdom finds the mightTo climb the Tree of Life, and reachCool sanctuaries of restraintWhere poise is window unto sight,And silence winnower of speechWhere love has lost the tiger-taintIn vision of the bridal mirthThat blends Divinity with Earth,Bone of true bone, true flesh of flesh.Inly they know what purpose broodsWhen midnight drags her starry meshAlong the deep infinitudesWhat pride gives dignity to dustFrom trampled grape comes what sweet

must;What love moves the confederate PowersWherewith Fate wields her lightest wand,Or in dark salutary hoursTurns down a catastrophic hand.. . . Softly they sleep whose heads have foundThe solid comfort of the sodWho know, outstretched on holy ground,That nearest Earth is nearest God.


62/168

A SONG AT DAWNVoice of the Dawn, resistless voiceThrough harmonies of sun and wave !I hear you, and my limbs and veins rejoiceNew risen from the night's deep grave.I hear you, and my heart is gladTo feel your keen awakening lance.No sweeter joy the dreamful darkness hadThan bulbul's song or insect's dance.Roll up the gaudy scroll of dreams,The tangled skein of vision-stuffUnder the morning's branched and flower-

ing beams,Life wholly lived is life enough.

Why look for deeper, fuller hoursWith hours about us unfulfilled ?


63/168

A SONG AT DAWN 51The wiser mango greenly breaks in flowersThough not a cloud its rain has spilled.But when the thankful arid waysHave drunk its perfume, sweetly spread,God shall bestow a recompense of daysThat pour refreshment on its head.

O'lye who seek the far-descried.With nearness void ! hear Wisdom's artYou shall not lift from joy's exhaustless tideMore than the measure of the heart.Vainly for larger life vve yearn.Or queenlier blooms of truth to blow,Till we in life's least moments gladly learnTo live the little truth we know.


64/168

THE BANYAN TREEUnder the banyan thickly lieLeaves like an autumn newly shed,Yet keen against the sapphire skyThe green of spring breaks overhead. ,

So closely neighbour birth and death,It seems the all-pervading sunHolds in a trance-like pause of breathPast, present, future, blent in one.

Yea, folded here in calm besideOur shallow fret of joy and ruth,Back on itself the living tide ^ *Augustly flows from age to youthFor age in wrinkles witch-like standsAnd leans great wisdom on her crutch.Yet pushes forth adventuring handsEarthward for youth to spring at touch.


65/168

THE BANYAN TREE 53Had we thy secret, ancient childOur hearts might lightlier pay time's toll;Count years- behind, not on us piled,Each hour the birth-time of the soul.

So might we thy large saneness share.Roots proud in clay, and fruitage skiedNot wholly thinned to fire and air,Nor in earth-darkness wholly tied.

Unto which end our prayer is madeThat we, from deeper vision wonHere where the night-like slumbrous

shadeIs cast and mixed with noonday sun,May glimpse where fast the shuttle

gleams.Flying to weave in mystic waysSomething of daylight in our dreams,Something of dreaming in our days.

Adyar, Madras.


66/168

BALANCEWail not that the thorny spearPricks about this Persian rose.Rather count it good that hereBeauty out of harshness grows.. . Though the feathery tamarindAcid fruitage hangs in air,Spiny cactus, leather-skinned.Gives a sweetly savoured pear.. . Let the parrots, gorgeous-hued,Sharply scold across the sky ;Plain-robed warblers of the woodSweetness out of shadow cry.What if sunlight, fosteringNested frailty shut from sight,Strikes in gold along the wingOf the circling slaughterous kite :Thus (and in the human heartWhere, across a swinging gate,


67/168

BALANCE 55Joy and sorrow meet or part)Nature holds her balance StraightWheels us in a roundabout.Each to others' purpose pressed,As our sun-screen, shredded out.Makes a thieving squirrel's nest.Yet, look deeper ; you may knowSomething subtly intertwinedIn the clash of foe and foe.Or the link of kind with kindSomething that untwists the Rope,And, through slits in sound and shape.Finds towards a larger scopeHidden pathways of escape.

Hold this truth ;the maze of thingsIs by one deep rapture stirred,As a poet soothly singsMeanings past his wisest word.

Madanapalle, South India.


68/168

UNITYHigh on the rock-paved praying-groundThe sons of Allah stand,Then in obeisance, mute, profound,Bend earthward head and hand.In robe and turban many-huedThey bloom upon the mindA bank of flowers in prayerful moodThat bends before a wind.

And here, beside the white-towered shrine,God Shiva's ancient seat.Field-blossoms in the sunlight shineAbout my wandering feet.Then, as a breeze across my browOn some glad errand runs.They bow, as in devotion bowAllah's and Shiva's sons.


69/168

UNITY 57So calm the encircling hills, so sweetThe jasmine-scented air,God, Man and Nature seem to meetAnd blot out Here and ThereAnd show that, under painted mask.One holy impulse stirsThose flowers that grace from Allah ask,These clay-born worshippers.

In such clear glimpses of the WholeOur foolish barriers fall.For who finds kinship with the soulIs kindred unto all.

Madanapalle, South India.


70/168


71/168

TO RABINDRANATH TAGORE 59And give intention for the deed,With one deep wish that, till the setOf sun across your song's wide sea,Our backs may bend with growing debtFor your pure golden poesy


72/168

AFTER A LADY HAD PLAYEDON THE VINA

Because men's little hearts had turned awayAfter strange deities of power and pride,The populous heavens (which to the

wonder-eyedStark savage held great hands that badehim pray)

Shrank, in chill reason, to a span of dayNight-clasped; and gods, clean shorn ofhomage, sighed

Leaving star-thrones changed to mere earthenskied.

Built there, as here, on silence and decay !But unto us, sister in song ! to us.Outcasts of pride and power, attuned aloneTo sound as vina to the Spirit's will.One came, whose presence, vastly luminous,


73/168

AFTER A LADY HAD PLAYED ON VINA 61Thrilled us to prayer, while trumpets deeplyblown

Criedj " Lo ! the Immortals mix withmortals still !


74/168

INDIAN PARAPHRASESI : A GOPI-SONG TO SRI KRISHNASomeone spake of moon and sun ;But for me, in love grown wise.Through the dark and light made oneOnly shone your searching eyes.What, to those who never knew.Was the midnight sky's expanse,Looked my throbbing spirit throughWith your comprehending glance.And the long cloud-tressed airThat to others moved beyond.Wrapped me in your silken hairGemmed with pearl and diamond.Now along the flowery groveBy the champak's odorous pile.


75/168

A GOPI-SONG TO SRI KRISHNA 63Eyes made vision-full by loveSee your deep alluring smile.

Koel's note from tree to treeSpeaks your voice with sweetest smart,And the dark blue rolling seaTells the pulsing of your heart.And for me my happy doomShines upon your ageless face,Bride of your eternal bloomHeld in your divine embrace.

Paraphrased from the Tamil of C. Subramdnia Barathi.


76/168

II : THE MYSTIC CHURNYE whose feet all Godward run,

Pause ! for the Ever-Shining OneComes not for drum or perfumed silk.He hides as gki within the milk,Essence enfolded, unexpressed.Would you behold Him manifest ?Gather your eyes from quests aboveTake you the churning-rod of Love :Wrap round its upright stem the tenseTwo-ended cord, Intelligence . . .Pull ! . . and for Wisdom loving-eyed,And Love in Wisdom purified,Unto your eyes made clear by graceHe shall unveil His shining Face.

Paraphrased from the Tamil of Saint Appar, early seventhcentury.


77/168

Ill : THE BARGAINTUKA to Ishwara saithWe shall take, if so Thou will,Birth ; and learn of life and death.But we ask that Thou shalt fillAll our life-ways, dark and long,With remembrance of Thy Face,And with comrades rich in songMindful of our heavenly place.So in frailty of the fleshWe may travel free from stain ;Miss the snaring senses' mesh.Yea, and freedom's subtle chain.Song, and Thee the song to fillIn the space from birth to death.Grant us thesethen have Thy will,Tuka to Ishwara saith.Paraphrased front the Marathi of Tukaram,

seventeenth century.


78/168

IV : THE SEVEN ARROWSSeven wounds hurt me within :A moon in daylight, pale and thinWithered beauty past its hour ;Water with no lotus-flowerNoble manhood void of mindWealth that knows not to be kind ;Wisdom weak from hunger's sting ;Evil counselling a king.These (till life and I shall part)Sevfin arrows pierce my heart.

Paraphrased from the Samskrit of Bhartrihariabout the seventh century.


79/168

V: NALA MAKES A MISTAKESo kindly me my lady eyed.Come on love's glad mission,All my being laughed, and cried" Love has found contrition ! "

Oh ! so bright her eye-beam glancedThat in love's deliriumAll my happy fingers dancedShining with coUiriumOffered, not with hope to makeBeauty beautifuUer,But for old sweet custom's sake.To my heart's proud ruler.... Ah ! such fancies us o'ertakeWho to love devote us *What I looked on wasa lake,And her eyea lotus


80/168

68 THE GARLAND OF LIFEStepping dow^ I quickly learnedLife's cold eruditionQuenching flood on love that burnedPity my condition.

Paraphrased from the Marathi of RaghanathaPandit, seventeenth century.


81/168

VI : THE DEVOTEEOnly on my constant prayerLord ! to thee, my soul reliesI who no proud purpose" bear,Nor the burden of the wise.No consoling boast is mineWon from sacred pilgrimageOnly to an inner shrineGo my feet from youth to age.Me no deep-eyed fastings waste,Seeking thus a swifter goalOnly day and night I tasteQuenchless hunger of the soul.

Yet, though in the forest deepI am but a wind-borne flower,Knowing not the spells that keepDanger far, nor words of power ;


82/168

70 THE GARLAND OF LIFE

Conning not the Vedic artIn Benares' calm retreat,I, who only yield my heart,Find all wisdom at thy Feet.

Paraphrased from the Hindi of Rani Mirabai,sixteenth century.


83/168

VII: THE HOLY DANCE(A Song to the Child Krishna)

Here in my courtyard, Where the breezeBears odours of the champak trees,And high in blue unclouded calmSways leisarely the fruiting palm.Come ! Little One, at cool of day.And on your flute soft music play.Oh ! fresh as music-haunted wind.Come ! thou enchanter of my mind.Lift up thine ageless infant glance.And in my heart's cool courtyard danceThe joy that foots the years along.Till all my being break in song.Dance ! Holy Child. My melodyShall speak our joy, who inly seeHeaven's courtyard here on earthly

ground,


84/168

72 THE GARLAND OF LIFEAnd hear a music past our sound,And know in every joy and woeGod's onward footsteps dancing go

From the same.


85/168


86/168


87/168

MOULTED FEATHERS

Fir^ Edition 1919Second Edition 1922


88/168

To HarindranathChaltopadhyaya


89/168


90/168


91/168

A DESERTED NEST .I CLIMBED a tree, and found a nestWith gaping beaks and sprouting wings.My hand in kindliness caressedThe little downy cheeping things.Ah ! Love, let Wisdom be thy mate

Lest thou perform the work of Hate.Shy Nature has her sanctuariesWhere even Love unwelcome goes.The mother-bird, made birdly wise,Will leave the nest where danger shows.

I climbed the tree another day.Dead in the nest the fledglings lay !

Ah ! Love, be not untimely kind,Lest thine all gentle step intrudeUpon the poet's nesting mindAnd scare away the mother-moodAnd leave, in lieu of singing guest.Dead birds in a desejrted nest


92/168

SONGFor the beloved, arranging a vase offlowers

A VASE from Noron in NormandyOh ! good red clay from the appled south !

And poppies plucked from a garden inSpekeOh ! burning lips of the summer's mouth !

White fingers that beauty to beauty joinUp ! flutes and trumpets in marriage glee !

And dust as the first and last of allOh ! life ... Oh ! death ... Oh ! mystery !

Say, then, Is joy but a painted mask ?Oh ! lie, sweet lie of the mocking spring !

And nothing sure to the hungry hand ?Oh ! Something that ever is on the wing I . .

.

Were Beauty beauty without our eyes ?Oh I star that out of the darkness fell I

Would Death be death if it shared not life ?Ah I lips that know, but shrink to tell!


93/168

LOVE ANTIPHONALJust as the first faint thought of lightDisturbs the dreaming head of night,A koel in the sandal treeCries Love, O Love ! in ecstasy.And far away, past peering eyes.Love, Love ! a koel's note replies.O my wee dear ! a faint voice calls.And from the dim-seen mango fallsLove's instant answer, My -wee dear !And everywhere the far and nearJoin through the voice of rook and doveIn morn's antiphony of love.Ah ! shall the love-song of the birdLack the full finish of a wordOf heartfelt conscious human speechiEons beyond bird-meaning's reach ?Nay ! let love's circle be complete.And you and I call Sweet to Sweet6


94/168

82 MOULTED FEATHERSWhile the enfolding arms of lightTake to day's heart the dreams of night.

Madanapalle, India.


95/168

LATE MONSOONNo blade of song parched fingers pluck.No thought-cloud cools the red-rimmed eye.Life's quenchless burning sun-lips suckThe heart-fruit cracked and dry !Down to her core the soul shall rendIn awful thirsting painUnless God in his mercy sendThe singing rainGod ! write, write in gathering shade

Thy cloud-account across the sky.The price be set, the bargain made1 ask not how or why,But this : Let passionate lightning rend.Thought's thunder shake, the brain,If these must come before Thou sendSong-giving rain.


96/168

TIDESSlowly the solemn tide of flowing nightCreeps up the shore of day from mark to

mark,Whelming the painted harlotry of sightIn cleansing dark.

Love ! at our day's end may the Spirit rollLifeward its vast obliterating tide,And in its depths the scarred and stained soulBe purified


97/168

THE COINA BEGGAR, through the woods I passed,Craving some boon to solace griefAnd Nature blew a laugh, and castInto my hata withered leafNow I the young and gay will join.And spend my wealth, and sing in glee.Because of that exhaustless coinThat spendthrift Nature threw to me !


98/168

THE POET TO HIS ALTER EGOIN A PESSIMISTIC MOOD

Alter Ego

When I walk along the street.Every human face I meetSeems a trivial burdened elfMimicking my baser self'Twixt me and the dream I madeThey have set a palisade.I go vainly up and downShut in a beleaguered town.

Poet

Brother ! if you would escapeFrom the chain of size and shape,And behold your guiding star ;Leave the perpendicular


99/168

THE POET TO HIS ALTER EGO 87Where your eye's earth-levelled lanceBreaks on phantom circumstance,And your ocean-peace is lostIn its shore-waves' clamouring host.Find a place of grass, and lieLooking straight into the sky,Stretched (the thought comes with a shock)Like Prometheus on his rock.(Yet if you the fire would find.You must pay the price in kind,Since Life's Tree must yield as dowerWood for Crucifixion's hour,Ere the sky-stair can be madeFor the Soul's high escalade,And the thorny Circlet blowsTo the Spirit's living Rose).Then, your back to solid ground.You shall know the Peace profound,When your eyesight's mystic TreeBlossoms towards the MysteryGod in Farness writeth clearFor the measure of the Near ;Setting Vastness as a ringOn the hand of Every-ThingFurnishing the Whole, to houseGreat, with Littleness for spouse.


100/168

88 MOULTED FEATHERSFinding this, your heart shall findWisdom past the sundering mind.Eyes of Godward-groping menBrotherly shall greet you . . . ThenRise, and take among the throngDeeper vision, sweeter song.


101/168


102/168

90 MOULTED FEATHERSAs here, where, more than stricken love

intends.Sorrow is throned on everlasting joy,And death is crowned with immortality ?

Agra, April 1918, Midnight.


103/168

II

The Forgotten WorkersTen thousand and ten thousand came and

went,Forgotten builders of one lasting name,Even as fuel perishes to flame,Grapes to new wine, their strength for others

spent.Yet here they have enduring monument(One with the master's whom our lips proclaim)Beyond the loud irrelevance of fame,The worker lost, in his great work content.. , . Ah ! smile on us who build Thy House of

Life,Allah ! that we, though nameless, have the

' graceTo perish greatly in Thy rising faneWhere Beauty wields pain's hammer, death's

keen knife.


104/168

92 MOULTED FEATHERSGrant us oblivion in Thy shining FaceAll else forgotten, Thou alone remain.


105/168

Ill

The Murmurs in the Dome

Sunrise . . . The servant makes his morninground.

And on the tombs his duster flicks and swingsWith a soft swish. A raucous beggar sings.High in the dome, caught swiftly from the

ground".Murmur and murmur echo and rebound,Transfiguring those abject common thingsTo heavenly Presences on rustling wingsJoined in a conclave of celestial sound.. . . Had we but ears made pure that we might

hear,Allah ! beyond this flying dust of speechThe authentic Voice that our vain words

eclipse.Ah ! then, the Infinite low-murmuring near.


106/168

94 MOULTED FEATHERSWe might outsing our beggar-whine, and

reachA godlike utterance on human lips.


107/168

IVThe Passing of the Builder

For her alone, love's queen, this queenlytomb

He planned ; and for himself in thoughtessayed

On Jamuna's thither margin to be laidIn a severer pomp of kingly gloom.Ah ! vainly men to fashion fate presume.Steadfast through passing empires, here

arrayedIn deathless beauty he himself had made,Dust by her dust, he finds his perfect doom.. . . Open our eyes, and unto them display,Allah ! the hidden Taj that through our strifeInvisibly we build with passion's fireAnd thought's high sculpturing. Grant us eachday

Beautiful burial, sweet death in life,And peace at last beside the Heart's Desire.


108/168

FAREWELLTo Eleanor and Kathleen Elder, exponents of

the Greek Dance, on leaving India for Europein wartime.

I

Farewell ... Ah yes, who strive for nameOr pride, may joy awhile, and tire.The lightest wind may quench light flame ;But storms can only fan the fireThat burns within the ardent breast ,Of those who count a fingered string,A throbbing phrase, a foot's light zest,Than life or death a goodlier thihg.

For anyone can live and die.Breathe, and desire, and'cease to be ;But unto few is given the eyeTo read life's meaning crystally ;


109/168

FAREWELL 97To know art's pang of birthtime strain,And God's perpetual springtime feel,Leave custom's Saturn on his chain,And run with Hermes winged at heel.

II

Farewell . . . Fare well ! Ah, well you fare,Strong souls whose deep or sportive moodReveals the heavenly Playwright thereWho looks on life, and finds it goodAye, and for 111 a place has madeAt Virtue's side her part to play.Sisterly as the light and shadeThat are twin offspring of the Day.

Miriams of a later birthSea-crossers, you have sure reward,Who trace upon our common earthThe dancing footsteps of the Lord.Scathless through death-strewn seas you goWhere murder lurks on dark swift wing,Safe in the joy of those who knowThe thing is nought,the Play's the thing.


110/168

98 MOULTED FEATHERSIII

Farewell ... Ah no, they cannot partWho meel; beyond the hand and brain ;Who taste within the cloistered heartThe mutual sacrament of painPain that is one with bursting shoots,The strain and hope of fledging wings,Creation's sharp sweet urge that putsThe stamp of heaven on earthly things.Art's vagrants, they have instant homeWhere rhythm and colour move and gleam^And over them the starry domeHolds wealth beyond the miser's dream.Lonely, yet linked by speechless vowAre they, and covered with her robe,Beauty, whose touch on one true browStirs all her loyers round the globe.


111/168


112/168

100 MOULTED FEATHERSII

Brother ! if clay unto your finger's clayMake answer swift and justIn this high heavenly way ;If 'dust to dust'In beauty wedBe no poor phrase of parting o'er the dead,But metaphor of God's own finger-thrustBreaking our shapeless night to shapen day;Yea, if our fashioning hands are born of

Earth,And she through them in Art find secondbirth

(Mother and daughter of our fathering yearsThrough mutual torture of creation's fearsAnd hopes uplifted high),And through our flesh reach finer mouldIn death's disintegrating cold ;Now may we shed our human arrogance(We, lonely, self-outcast from sod and sky),And, underneath the kindred glanceOf Earth's glad suffering eye.Glimpse the majestic purposes of painCrumbling our mortal rustIn some immortal Artist's play ;


113/168


114/168

102 MOULTED FEATHERSBlessed the winged feetThat move with Hermes-lightness on therough

Ascending human way,Comrades, not vassals, of the clayThrice blessed they.Loving all things, yet taking none to wife,Who count abundant lifeGood, yet not good enoughFor those whose being has its rootPast sound or sight,"Nourished on starry fruitPlucked from the laden branches of the night!


115/168

REALISATIONThis day I give in my Soul's calendarA place apart ; for suddenly I knewThe secret joy of everything that grew,The bliss that perished with the falling star.The choric burden on the wave-swept bar,Why the stream sang, what news the tempest

blew.And why the koel chuckled as he flew,And what glad voices call in things afar.Oh ! On-ward was their word of joy to me,The happy pain of life that ever flowsFrom infinite to infinite, and givesThe push of change against our fixity.Joy passes ? Aye, and grief as quickly goes. ,Speed on, my Soul, with all that truly lives


116/168


117/168

SURYA-GITAISUN SONGS]

1922.


118/168


119/168

DEDICATIONTO KATHLEEN-NI-HOULIHAN

Not the loud songs ofjoyful easeI givCj as once on morning's wing ;But, for your night of agonies,I give dark songs I cannot sing.

Take them. Beloved ! and, deeper farThan moods that wear a transient name.Take love whose wordless poems areThe throbbing silence round a flame ;

Love that my veins with passion thrids.Kindling your candles in my eyes.And from my heart's red censer bidsPerpetual worship rise.

Before December 6, 1921.


120/168


121/168

GORGEOUS LIES 109Wine of God's gladness givenTo earth as the pledgings passFronti the tankard of heav'n to the heavenIn the lake's over-brimming glass.

Wagtails flirting flyWith a flash at each splashing tip.A swirl of vapour on high

Is a golden sailing shipCarrying merchandiseOf myth and marvel and dreamTo the harbours of wise.Ah ! what compassionate gleam

In the eye of evening wakes,Whose brooding ecstasyTo deep commingling shakesThe heart of the world and meMystery thrilling to tearsThrough the twilit sedges sings.The glory of God appearsThrough trivial inglorious things.Nought to the seeing eye ^May he sung for itself in sooth.Only the poet's gorgeous lieTelleth the simple truth.


122/168

II : THE MISER AND THE COIN" Alms for the poor ! " Night thinly whined,And held to Day his begging-bowl.His dark rags trembled in the wind.Day felt soft pity in his soul,And in his bag, of cloud-thread spun,Searched with compassionate hands of light.And dropped his golden coin (the sun)Into the begging-bowl of Night.

Night laughed, and wagged his miser head,And on the floor of darkness pouredHis day-hid wealth of stars, and said :" Now comes, to swell my silver hoard,That foolish pilgrim's golden gift."He turnedbut lo ! the coin was gone . .

.

And through a far-off cloudy riftCame the slow subtle smile of Dawn.Santiniketan, October 1921.


123/168


124/168

112 SURYA-GITAThat along the morning slopeScarlet-skirted blooms will runLeading the pomegranate sun.

Santiniketan.


125/168

IV: THE PRODIGAL'S RETURNFather ! from distant lands of nightI come, Thy wandering child.With Thee, at Thy first kiss of light.My heart is reconciled ;And, for my bankrupt spirit's need.Thy love's warm fingers runSpreading the sky's rich title-deedSealed with Thy sealthe sun.

Santiniketan,8


126/168

MOON MELODIESI: WORSHIP

[After the Japanese']

Day's lord forgets, but night's dear queenremembers.

(Brothers ! rejoice that from our fiery pastFaithfully doth lastOne of all its dead and scattered embers.)

Moon, Moon ash-white !Thou dost callThy true lovers allRound the legend-haunted hearth of night,Friend with friend, not rivalLiving sharers in thy grace ;Yea, and in thine unforgetting faceLong dead lovers of thee find survival.


127/168

WORSHIP 115Round thine enthroned feet a wind hath stirredFull of the passion of the quick and deadWho whisper towards thee, and with liftedhead

Await thy sweet confiding word.But (alas ! unlike a mortal woman)Language thy snow-chaste lip eschewsOnly the lonely dedicated museThou dost silently illumine.Yet to him who prayeth,Dreading the chill of dark oblivion," Fade allif thy remembrance but be won,"Something secret sayeth.For his heart's deep recompense," None who worship meShall forgotten be."

. . . Wherefore, Brother ages hence !Spreading, as once I spread, a praiseful wing.When in love's ritual you con her,Singing then (as now I sing)At the quiet evening's fall,Ah ! recallWorshipfully I too looked upon her.


128/168

II: ECLIPSE[Spirit of the Earth)What shadow spreads across thy face,Moon beloved ! and veils the grace

Once on thy lover Earth bestowed ?Hast thou, on thy celestial road.Come on a rumour, comet-spread,That all thy youthful fire is dead ?Or blurs thine eye with smoky smartOf conflagration in the heartLit from anticipation's rageAt passionless approaching age ?Or dost thou at my ardour quail.And take the chaste monastic veilAs refuge for thy mysteryFrom eyes that seek the soul of thee.And count their age-long search undoneTill (as of old) we twain are one ?Ah love, dark love ! perhaps thy mood,


129/168


130/168

A DEAD SCARABNever rose in Grecian air,To a life gone otherwhere,Half so fair a cenotaphAs this beetle's body ; chaffFrom death's threshing ; skyey wrackFlung upon a jungle trackTurquoise and opal thrown awayIn the pleasure of a day.

What of mighty bulk and plan !Here, beyond the skill of man,God had polished with His sleeveTints of iridescent eveTo a subtle wavering sheenBlue that melted into green ;And a tint that hardly knewWhether it was green or blueOr a magic tincture castWhen some seraph's pinion passed


131/168

A DEAD SCARAB 119Scattering splendours not its ownFrom the rainbow round the Throne.Then, as towards the ground I bentRapt in silent wonderment,Half a hundred beetles flewPast with so loud joy, I knewIf my blood would stand but still,I might see God on the hillFurbishing with all His mightCreatures for an hour's delightBreathing on them with His breathGlory blent of life and deathLoosing on the scented breezeExquisite futilities.

Ah ! what glints of laughter lurkAt so heavenly handiworkRound His mouth and in His eyesI but mistily surmise ;Or the buzz about His headAs the souls of beetles dead.Flying back into His hand.Chant, " Oh ! to that glimmering landWe would fain go forth anew,Kindred of the transient dew


132/168

120 SURYA-GITAFor immortal Beauty's sakeMortal habitation makeAnd, for wages, sip againHoney from the lips of pain."Therefore God the Artist laughedAs He plied His handicraftToiled all night to speed by dayTravellers on the Pilgrims' Way.Such His labour's urgent zestNot an hour had He for rest." So," I said, " it is not fairTo disturb Him with my prayer ;And tonight I go to bed,Sins unpardoned, prayers unsaid,Pondering, till my light is spent.What old Egypt's scarab meant.

Madanapalle, India.


133/168

BITTER AND SWEETBitter aloes give a flowerPendant bells, waxen white.Here the honeybirds have dowerOf the honeybird's delight.

Black beneath from beak to tipOf a joyous jerking tail,Yellow necked, with yellow wing.On the aloe stem they swing,Sip, and cheep, and sip, and sailOut and back, cheep and sip,Till the eye of one who seesGlimpses Beauty's mysteriesAnd the joy of wing and leaf.Swinging spray and waxen bell.Through the thrilling heart-strings tellTears have other springs than grief.


134/168

122 SURYA-GITANow they scan the bells with earSideways set as if to hearHoney-music's crystal strainsEchoed from the earth's deep veinsSinging, crystal beat by beat,Through the heart of all that lives ;Ringing through the swinging sweetFlower the bitter aloe gives.

Madanapalle, India.


135/168

A MERWOMANOff the south coast of Japan

When with snapped rudder-chain we rolledHelplessly, and the masthead signal told" Ship uncontrolled,"They saw not what I saw, by love made wise,-Lo, the dark deep had guardian eyesYea, all the wonder of her soul's great seasLooked at me through two brown anemonesThat floated by,SolBore a brave heart at ease.


136/168


137/168

MYOPIA" Lord Christ receive my soul ! " he cried,And calmly died,Looking to lift his eyesIn ParadiseTowards his adoredAscended Lord,And with swift fingers through a wiry warpWeave praises on a harp.Then, after some soft dreaming space,He saw a baby faceLit with ecstatic joy,And the plump, sea-blue body of a boyWho swung to suitThe wonderful shrill madness of his flute.While round him dancing girls their anklets

rang,And "Krishna! Krishna! Krishna!" circling

sang.


138/168

126 SURYA-GITA" Away, heathen thing ! " the dead man

cried," I seek a pierced side.Forehead thorn-crowned.And great sad searching eyes.This, only this, my longing satisfies."Whereat the flute's glad soundSank to a sob of sweet compassionate windThat murmured, " Blind, blind!"


139/168

THE POET REFUSESTO PART WITH HIS YOUTH

No, Youth ! we have no need to partAlthough the years pile up behind ;Rather we gage to keep a heartResponsive, and resilient mind.For this I bound you close to truth ;Smiled at your hungers and your rage,Deeming that sober age-in-youthWould round to happy youth-in-age.Time can no disenchantment bringTo those whose vision passes timeBut yield more vast adventuringIn deeper ocean, richer clime :

Yea, for the blood's lost gusty whimsGive steady sight of lofty goal


140/168

128 SURYA-GITAAnd, for the fever of the limbs,The strong clear passion of the soul.


141/168

A SONG OF STILLNESSStand still, my Soul ! and seeSalvation from the Lord.Chariots and men let be.Oblivion's wave be pouredOn all pursuing thee.That up from Egypt roaredDeafness on what may beOnly in stillness heard.

Ocean and earth give upTo men who grasp and hoard.Pharaoh his fate let fill.Ours, Soul ! the standing stillAt the revealing word.For usenough a cupEmpty for what is pouredFrom fruit of one tall treeWith food and water stored.


142/168

130 SURYA-GITAThis, and a space of timeSweet with the grace of rhyme.Still, still, my Soul ! Oh seeAbout our quiet feetThe squirrel strangely stirredTo mute companionship.And overhead the fleetArcana of the birdPassing from lip to lipDivine discovery.These ; and after dark,(When frogs, rain-drunken, croak)The fireflies' throbbing sparkHeart of the yearning nightBreaking in beats of lightFlashes of fairy fireA thousand hammers smite,Shaping one will entireWith simultaneous stroke.

Still, Soul ! Oh very still.Lest we escape the thrillOf utmost mysteryThat opened eyes may greetCelestial splendours curled


143/168

A SONG OF STILLNESS 131In this most poignant-sweetGod-blossom of a world,That wake, with ancient smart,Nostalgia of the heart,Home-hunger of the will.

Oh ! that disclosure comeTo stilled and crystal sight.Let all our mouths be dumb ;Earthward our eyes be bentIn holy sacrament.Finding in dew-damp sodBody and blood of God.Lo ! (signal to the wise)Now from our earth arise.Moulded of sky and clay,The pillared fire by night.The pillar of cloud by day.That cry" No promised landLies far, but here at handHere, where ye, dreaming, drewTo break your day's duressAnd all the ways heretoAre ways of quietness."Madanapalle, India,


144/168

A HYMN TO BENEFICENT BEAUTYThat thing which I have left undone,Or, done, has failed what thou hast willed,Forgive, Beauty !as the sunForgives the flower that he has killed.And, more, forgive my sceptic laughThat I should bow in songless shameTo theesince thou must shoulder halfThe blame (if there is aught to blame)For here, within your pulse's reach,Where Venus apes your secret eye,Great silence is the seemliest speech.We shall have singing by and by.I know that on a hidden vineHangs, for the gathering, song's full fruit.Oh ! lips aglow with present wineHave little breath to fill a flute !Perhaps a day will come when I(While thundering echoes round me roll)


145/168

BENEFICENT BEAUTY 133Shall raise your ringing glories highAnd clash them from the towering souliMeanwhile, to hear your whisper floatWhen dayspring shakes the sleeping trees ;At noon to watch your gilded boatFlash through the spume of sunny seas,Sweet is ; and sweet, with shadows blent,To taste your deep and silent bliss,Your thrill from far aloofness sentAlong the moonbeam's holy kiss,When youLat sleeptime on my headEmpty the jasmine's perfume-jars.And draw at midnight round my bedThe sequin-coverlet of stars.So fastened are my foolish eyes,

Beauty ! on your glamourous ways, i1 have not leisure to grow wiseAnd old enough to sing your praise.


146/168

A HYMN TO DESTRUCTIVE BEAUTYDeirdre and HelennamesThey gave you passing by.Emain and Troy in flamesYour answer to their sigh.

hand to which ours have flown,Beggars for rest and meatYou sow, where we have sown.Fierce poppies through our wheat.Smiting through dull contentDestructive beauty's shineTorch-trailing foxes sentThrough the fields of the philistine.Deirdre and Helen ! weWho loved you long ago.Still as felicityCount your most shattering blow,Knowing that till the breadBe broke, the wine be spilled,


147/168

DESTRUCTIVE BEAUTY 135Love's feast cannot be spread,Life's utmost be fulfilledElse were our dreaming vain,Robbed of the end wheretoWrestles the heart and brain,Lost, to be lost in you.

Deirdre and Helen ! takeWhat name, what shape you pleaseBut, for your lovers ' sake,Grant us no deadeningeaseWith some poor perfect giftStaling and swiftly spent;Rather our vision liftThrough high bewildermentUnto a purer pride,Whether our singing giveSorrow because you died,Laughter that still you live.


148/168

INSTALLATION ODEFor the placing of the death-mask of Francis

Thompson in the home of Yone Noguchiin Japan

I

Behold his face !" This ? No ! His living face,

Sworn to some deep allegiance with the dust,Made pact with Death,And signed away his lyrical breathFor some dark boon beyond our moth and rust.Dashing our dream that he so greatly thusSang but for us.

Clay unto clay,Too soon he went the dreadful human way.Those eyes grew dim


149/168

INSTALLATION ODE 137That shone with the flying glory of seraphimOn heavenly embassage. That aeolian frameMade vocal by every wind of song, becameA thing of horror to shrink from, to hustleaway

Clay under clay

From the mouth of the worm,From the worm's unappeasable mouthWhat art of man had power to hold him fastWhen dry-lipped Death, in his bacchic fever-

storm,With our singer's life had stanched his drouth,And his drained vessel upon the ground had

cast.Smearing mortality's ultimate disgraceOn his cold, blind, songless face ? "

II

ye of little faith !How could he suffer silence and eclipseWho took from off the Muse's lipsNo reedy echo of a blasted wraith,But song's immortal secret. Starry-willed,He from the blare and clash of life distilled


150/168

138 SURYA-GITACelestial music, throwing back to heavenHeaven's voice with Earth's own sister-music

filled,Stretching the rapture of his hymnFrom snowflake unto seraphim.

Lo, past the ' Lampads seven 'He has winged his flightIn music, incense and light,Carrying rumour to the flaming Throne,Of Man Promethean grown.Who on the hearth of Earth blows up a fireStolen from clay, transmuted from desire,Which yet shall burn with fragrance of our sodWithin the House of God.

He has ascended to his natal placeWho for a season unto Earth was lent,And unto us has sentA comforter :Behold his faceLife's figurehead backed by invisible sailsFilled with what adventuring galesOn seas beyond our cramped horizon's ring ;An open bookFor unborn legions dimly gathering,Where those who wisely look


151/168

INSTALLATION ODE 139(Yea, even as he in one small grass-leaf's

bloodFound wisdom's brimming flood)May read in script no passing years can dimThe very meaning of him.

Ill

ye who in the presence of the pallChant gloomy psalms of life's distress.Wailing that nearer fruit is nearer fall,How close is ripe to rottenness.Counting your house no more than wood and

stone,Yourselves none other than your flesh andbone

Raise now instead a welcoming strain,For lo ! the face you lost has come againPurged of corruption's stain.Well have your hearts and his bereaved songCried out against the silence of the graveAnd slow time's lapsing wave.Before the longDeep genuflection of his stoled wordDeath dare not pass unheardLove's cry for sight.Behold, behold his face


152/168

140 SURYA-GITAReborn of earth and art's transfiguring flame,The same, yet not the same,Fixed in the flux of Time whose hand can traceNo slow decay oh this our memory's normFor ere Corruption drove his shattering ploughO'er cheek and brow.Song's wordless clay-born sister-craftFull in the face of old Oblivion laughed.And snatched this fadeless relic of his formFrom the mouth of the worm !

IVNow let hot grief take faith's cool healing kiss.Love's whisper tellHow the dim Gardener crushed his leaf to smellHis own involved sweetness. Count not thisBut a cicatrix on the wound of life,

ye bereaved ! Lift up your eyes and seeNo puny changeling for the unchilded wife,But, more than perishing flesh, the visible he.The hieroglyph of the soul's mystery.Here of his many faces behold the last.The sum, the summit ; life's whole meaning

cast


153/168

INSTALLATION ODE 141Into one look all looks had flickered toward ;One coin compounded of his squandered

hoardOne silence built on song's high equipoise.

Oh ! many fluctuant feet of griefs and joys.Railing each other downWith April-alternating smile and frown,Danced through his heart in mutual mockery,Till their gyration drew each other in.And at the pinnacle of ecstasyFused them to utter quietness Look you

now.Death on his wheel has whirled the rainbowed

gaudsOur singer cast in prodigal delightOn his song's shoulders ; and upon his browLays their intervolved whiteFor ermined vestment, since life's Master nodsKnighthood on song's new virgin paladin.

VNow we, to the sound of the heart's drum and

fife,

Though secretly our eyes be sweetly wet.


154/168

142 SURYA-GITAHere in the front of his closed house of lifeHis hatchment proudly setProudly, yet not in vainly swelling pride,But with deep humbleness, as his, clear-eyed,That held his music but an answering strainWhen the Celestial Fiddler drew His bowIn earshot of the Soul's taut tympanum,And sands of speech, dead scattered else anddumb.

Sprang to the pattern-dance of unseen strings"With stars and leaves and waves and wings.

VICome now within the presence, feet unshod.Where art and songj child-laughter, friendship

free,Make for our treasure fit reliquary.Blow each upon your burning incense rodTill it smoke forth, snaky as Maenad's hairCurled with a wind that blows its old despairTo some strange solace touched with heavenly

thrill.Draw near and look your fill.Look where, no more of casual ardours born.Freed from life's fear-haunted morn


155/168

INSTALLATION ODE 143And age's undesirous hands and feet,Out of the nuptials of cooi clay and claySong's Minerva springs complete,Born the Jupiterian way.

VII

Last, ere with forehead thrice upon the groundWe take our leave with reverence profound,Mark you that mouth's sweet-lipped line,Shut as if tasting the new-trodden wineOf choicest vintages of speechFrom high-trailed branches past life's longest

reach,Ungathered save by those whose feet havemade

Death's escalade.Smacking of richer root and sweeter sunThan grapes'of Earth had done.. . Beneath that brow behold those fallen lidsCured oflOur darkness by what magic touch ?Oh ! we do wonder muchWhat stellar maze their franchised vision

thridsHow takes each starThe ' abashless inquisition ' of those eyes


156/168

144 SURYA-GITAThat even in life's winkered glanceCaught the cosmic ordonnance,And now doth findHigh confirmation and the amplitudeOf the trajectory of his arrowy mind.Yea, for his faith's reward,Stands he as Moses stoodAblink at the stripped splendour of the Lord,But with more subtle sightNearer the flame doth draw.And on a holier Sinai's loftier heightReceives the tables of a deeper Law


157/168

NOTES

10


158/168


159/168

NOTESPage 3 : Francis Sheehy-Skeffington, M.A., one of Ireland's

best-known publicists, was arrested and shot during the firstconfusion of the rebellion in Dublin in April, 1916, by an officerwho was afterwards found by a courtmartial to be insane. Whenarrested, Mr. Skeffington was engaged in an endeavour to restrainthe populace from disorder, an action in keeping with his earnestand varied humanitarianism, on some sides of which the authorwas closely associated with him for several years. He waspure-hearted and fearless, and his intellectual honesty had passedinto a proverb in his lifetime. His death, on the false assump-tion that he was concerned in an armed uprising, when, in fact,he was an opponent of warfare in any form save reasonableargument, has been lifted above its tragic irony, and become asacrifice for the future peace of the world.Page 8 : Brigid, the Celtic Goddess of Poetry, was the daughter

of the supreme God of Light, Dagda. She became the wife ofBress, the King of the Powers of Darkness, and later his enemy.These relationships are symbolical of the source of poetry inillumination, its necessity to consort for its expression with thedark realm of life, and its protest against that realm. The nameBrigid is variously derived, but the meaning most beloved of thepoets is Bright Arrow, for is not Poetry the singing Shaft fromthe Bow of the Lord ?Saraswati, the Hindu Goddess of Literature, Arts and Know-ledge, is pictured sitting on lotuses playing a sitar.Page 44 : Tainas and Sat are the Vedantic equivalents of

matter and spirit.The koel is an Indian bird with the note of the blackbird and

the habits of the cuckoo.


160/168

NOTESPage 52 : The Banyan continues its life by dropping slender

vertical branches which reach the ground and take root. InSouth India the foliage remains on the tree all year. When thenew season comes it pushes the past year's leaves off, producingthe simultaneous sight of autumn and spring.

Page 60 : The vina is an Indian wire-stringed musical instru-ment which rests on the ground on two-gourds and is pluckedwith the naked fingers.Pages 82 to 72 : The Indian Paraphrases are efforts to repro-

duce the spirit of the originals. Line for line translation from thehighly inflected Indian languages is impossible. The translitera-tions save one were made for me by Mr. V. R. Karandikar, B.A.,from whom I learned the cadences that I have tried to echo.Mr. C. S. Barathi is a well-known Tamil poet, who lived in

political exile in the French province of Pondicherry, a few milessouth of Madras, in company with Mr. Aurobindo Ghose, a writerof beautiful English poetry suffused with the Hellenic spirit.Mr. Barathi died in 1921.The Rani Mirabai was a Rajput Queen whose saintly life has

passed into the Indian classics of story. Her life has been dra-matised by the author in " The King's Wife "- Her songs areknown everywhere in India. She was a devout follower of theVaishnavite worship which is less metaphysical and more devo-tional than other forms of Indian religion.

I have written in "The Renaissance in India " of the otherpoets whom I have paraphrased, as members of a " long line ofphilosopher-poets to whom their philosophy was so much a thingof life, so exalted by the joy of discovery and experience, sovitalised by emotion, that it was the most natural thing in theworld for them to express in poetry the thoughts that to themwere charged with feeling, and the feelings that to them weremade coherent by thought ".Page 65 : Ishwara is the supreme Spirit.Page 87 : Collirium is a dark powder used by Indian women

for beautifying and healing the eyes.


161/168

NOTESNala is an epic hero about whose love-story many songs have

been sung. The story of Nala and Damayanti is one o theglassies of the Indian stage.Page 89 : The Taj Mahal at Agra in the North of India was

built by the Mogul Emperor, Shah Jahan, in memory of his wife,Mumtaj Mahal. It was begun in 1630. Twenty thousand work-men were employed and took about twenty years to complete it.The building is probably the most beautiful in the world. Thetomb of the Empress is under the centre of the whispering dome,the Taj having been intended by Shah Jahan for it alone. It washis intention to build a tomb for himself on the opposite side ofthe river Jamuna; but the vicissitudes of empire made this im-possible, and his body was ultimately placed alongside that of hisqueen. The second tomb under the dome is out of architecturalbalance, but moves the heart with a sense of an inner symmetryin the poetical fate of the creator of such beauty finding the rest-ing-place of his body beside the dust of her he had so devotedlyloved, and in the heart of the amazing thing of beauty that hehad caused to be reared for her sake.Pa^e 105 : Surya is the Hindu Sun-God. Gita is the samskrit

for songs.Pae 107 - Kathleen-ni-Houlihan (Kathleen daughter ofsorrow) was the name given to Ireland in the days when it was a

penal offence, under the law of the foreign invader, for an Irishpoet to sing the praises of his country.Page 129 : Exodus, XIV, 13.Page 134 : Deirdre is the Helen of Irish legend, Emain the

Irish Troy. ' Torch- trailing foxes 'Judges, XV, 4, 5.


162/168


163/168

APPRECIATIONSTHE QUEST

" Rarely is it the fortune of the reviewer to meet with verse osuch distinction." New Ireland Review." An imagination filled with haunting and refreshing images."Black and White." Wealt'h of imagery and loftiness of diction give it no small

claim to rank beside many of the finest conceptions of poeticgenius." The Peasant.THE BELL-BRANCH" Marked by a polished simplicity." Times," Mr. Cousins . . . has gradually perfected a method of self-

expression, and his verse, exquisitely fashioned, delights withits individual note." Northern Whig.

" Artistically Mr. Cousins can only be put below the twoleaders of his movement ; he has the calm intensity, the subtlestrangeness of simplicity, which seems to be as easy as breathingto an Irish Poet." The Nation, London.THE AWAKENING" One of the most beautiful little books I have ever seen

Mr. Cousins has attained- a unique mastery over the sonnet."Irish News.ETAIN THE BELOVED" One might compare it with ' Tiresias,' the poem in which

Swinburne transfigured the dream of Italian liberty. It is poetryof a high quality." The Star.

'" Though not essentially a nature poet, he seems more truly tohave got at the heart of things in the life of woodland and streamthan any of his Irish contemporaries. . . . The piece leaves animpression of intense pleasure." Weekly Irish Times,


164/168

APPRECIATIONS" It is a poem worthy o the name, passionate, musical and

wise. It is the work of a man who thinks, and who sets othersthinking." The Times Literary Supplement.STRAIGHT AND CROOKED

" At least three of these poems have a great beautya beautyboth of word and spirit, where artistry and vision are as one."Glasgow Herald." These poems, so varied in subject and metre, are full of

beautiful things."fa// Mall Gazette."Rare and distinguished work which will be treasured by allwho love beauty ... an entirely original power of expressionboth in language and rhythm." The Observer, London,

" It is the spiritual rather than the material that inspires him... he is the poet of hope and faith and lovenever of despair. . . the thinker, the poet, the man of courage who draws suste-nance, not poison, out of the mystery of the universe." Pall MallGazette.

" Many an English poet would willingly sacrifice a page or twoof his consummate verse if he might but catch the charm of sucha lullaby as this . . . " The Times.

" The latest poetical utterance of Ireland (1915) is a cry ofcomplete realisation. It has remained for Mr. Cousins, moresensitive and complex than his compatriots, to hear the call of hisage more consciously than they ; and it is left to him in graceand coiuage to declare it." Studies in Contemporary Poets, byMary C. Sturgeon (Harrap), Chapter on " An Irish Group ".

Printed by J. R. Aria, at the Vasanta Press, Adyar, Madras.


165/168


166/168


167/168


168/168

V/"

x^X^^.

yy- y yy/^4

X

y

y ^

y y/y/

-^y

cousins j_surya-gita (sun songs) the garland of life & moulted feathers (1922)

Documents