Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/37

Rh Now the bright Day-God turned his burning ray To where holds his royal sway, While the sad South in whispering breezes sighed And mourned his absence like a tearful bride. Then from its stem the red Asoka threw Full buds and flowerets of celestial hue, Nor waited for the Maiden's touch, the sweet Beloved pressure of her tinkling feet; There grew Love's an-ow, his dear Mango spray, Winged with young leaves to speed its airy way, And at the call of the wild bees came. Grouping the syllables of 's name. How sighed the spirit o'er that loveliest flower That boasts no fragrance to enrich its dower! For Nature, wisest mother, oft prefers To part more fairly those good gifts of hers— There from the tree Palasa blossoms spread, Curved like the crescent Moon, their rosiest red. With opening buds that looked as if young Spring Had pressed his nails there in his dallying— Sweet wanton, to whose enchanting face His flowery Tilaka gave fairer grace— Who loves to tint his lip, the Mango spray, With the fresh colours of the early day. And powder its fine red with many a bee That sips the oozing nectar rapturously. The cool gale speeding o'er the shady lawns Shook down the sounding leaves, while startled fawns Ran wildly at the viewless foe, all blind With pollen wafted by the fragrant wind. Sweet was the Koil's voice—his neck still red With Mango buds on which he just had fed—