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Poem	(Parvati at her lattice) O Love! were you a basil-wreath to twine among my tresses, A jewelled clasp of shining gold to bind around my sleeve, O Love! were you the keora's soul that haunts my silken raiment, A bright, vermilion tassel in the girdles that I weave; O Love! were you the scented fan that lies upon my pillow, A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine, Why should I fear the jealous dawn that spreads with cruel laughter, Sad veils of separation between your face and mine? Haste, O wild-bee hours, to the gardens of the sun set! Fly, wild-parrot day, to the orchards of the west! Come, O tender night, with your sweet, consoling darkness, And bring me my Beloved to the shelter of my breast! (Amar Singh in the saddle) O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand that flutters, Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride, O Love! were you a turban-spray or floating heron-feather, The radiant, swift, unconquered sword that swingeth at my side; O Love! were you a shield against the arrows of my foemen, An amulet of jade against the perils of the way, How should the drum-beats of the dawn divide me from your bosom, Or the union of the midnight be ended with the day? Haste, O wild-deer hours, to the meadows of the sunset! Fly, wild stallion day, to the pastures of the west! Come, O tranquil night, with your soft, consenting darkness, And bear me to the fragrance of my Beloved's breast!
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