Page:Chitra - Rabindranath Tagore.djvu/37



Who drank it? The rarest completion of life’s desire, the first union of love was proffered to me, but was wrested from my grasp? This borrowed beauty, this falsehood that enwraps me, will slip from me taking with it the only monument of that sweet union, as the petals fall from an overblown flower; and the woman ashamed of her naked poverty will sit weeping day and night. Lord Love, this cursed appearance companions me like a demon robbing me of all the prizes of love—all the kisses for which my heart is athirst.

Alas, how vain thy single night had been! The barque of joy came in sight, but the waves would not let it touch the shore.