The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sandhya, by Dhan Gopal Mukerji

E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Sankar Viswanathan,
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SANDHYA

SONGS OF TWILIGHT

DHAN GOPAL MUKERJI

AUTHOR OF "LAYLA-MAJNU"
AND "RAJANI"

NINETEEN SEVENTEEN

PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY

SAN FRANCISCO

Copyright, 1917

By PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY

SAN FRANCISCO

MRS. HANCOCK BANNING

MRS. WILLIAM CLARK, JR.

FOREWORD

Like "Rajani" [perhaps more than], "Sandhya" is a slender rill that has drawn its music from my Bengali which has told upon its English structure. This and many other faults of these poems are due to their unyielding adherence to spontaneity.

"Sandhya" came then, as "Rajani" in its own way through the bed of my Bengali reflecting its sound and sense, and trying to echo back its music that descends on all with the fading twilight.

N. B.—Since some of these poems were born without, and defy titles, I have refrained from forcing any on them.

SANDHYA, SONGS OF TWILIGHT

SYMBOLISM

SOURCE OF SINGING

With purple shadows the mist measures the infinite sea
That spreads her wave-raiment in lavender, violet, gray, and green;
While with thin silver rays a lone star seeks to sound the deeps.

The breeze-wings tire of flight;
The mist-threads weave a rose-fringed dusky drapery
To cover the bare breasts of the dunes from the moon's langour-heavy eyes.

The shadows die in purple silence;
Fades the one star from the sky,
As the dark mist puts out the rose-red moon from its deep.

Pale gleams the lighthouse light;
No warring waves break the peace of sleep tonight
Nor a hungry wind shrieks in pain from the lea.

Under her heavy veil of black
A languid sea sluggishly flows
To some far land of forsaken dreams.

"O, OLD! O, NEW!"[1]

Who are you?
Why make me wait
From the hour of dew
Till another sunset?
Why do I look
For your coming?
Listen to the weeping brook
That might bring
To my lonely shore
A word from you.
Ah, nothing! not a leaf's tremor!
O, old! O, longed for new!
Who are you? I ask;
Know not why I seek
From day to dusk
Without waking or sleep,—
No sleep! no waking!
A dreaming, a longing;
Not knowing, yet seeking,
For your coming waiting—
O, spring-born!
O, autumn-clad!
O, soul's new morn!
O, old! O, glad!
So glad, so young!
O, unseen, unknown,
O, fugitive vision!
O, eternal moan
In my heart—
[7]

O, tearful Soul of laughter,
Untouched, unhurt,
O, sweet! O, bitter!
My born yet unborn,
Shadow not fallen
O, undawning morn—
O, message unbroken.
Why, how, when?
I wait, wait for you,
O embrace of earth and heaven;
O, Old! O, New!

The far away called her—
A pilgrim on the hope-lit bark of youth,
A woman, a child, a soul
On an argosy for the lands of south.

It called her in her dreams;
Her waking into a deeper dream grew;
The flute of the distant
Played ceaselessly the music of the new.

With words of fire it called her,
Beyond the bourne of her days
To a silent sea of joy
Washed by unending twilight-rays.

It called her at dawn
When night shed the star-jewels from her hair;
It called her at sunset
When the moon mutely ascended the heaven's stair.

It called her without ceasing—
Hour after hour but a calling,
Till "Come, come, come!"
At her soul's door kept repeating:
[9]

Come, come, come!—in
Her word, her music, her song;
Far away, near, far again
Heedless of nightfall and dawn.

It called, it cried, it prayed,
Till She, the deity, made answer
Through youth, through age, through death
To her own far away's receding star.

LASSITUDE

FORLORN

In the star-blurred hours of the night
When the cloud-dams stay the flow of winds,
Not even the shadow of a meteor moves,
As in the watch-tower of love I sit;
Through the casement of hope look for thy coming
Along the moss-grown path of stones—
Those agonies that time has built on my soul—
By the unfathomable lake of my tears
Shed when even prayers had failed
To bring thy returning.
Come, destroyer of my peace and sleep,
Plunderer of lights of my days!
Enigma on the scroll of my fate
Before the lightnings fired my tower
And thunders crashed in my life's sky.
Only send the echo of thy footfalls—
The ring of thy song,
And a star—reflection of thy smile—
Those million suns in the firmament of my dawn.

AFTER A BENGALI SONG

MOONRISE

AT VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

The same air that you breathe
Is the air that caresses my sky;
The sunlight that lingers on your hair and lips
Sets fire to the pathway of my life;
And the call of nature's numberless birds
But reflects in world's mirror the music of our heart's singing—
Melody made of sweet agonies,
Exquisite joys poured from pitchers of pain,
As this summer's heat
From the ever-burning heart of heaven.
Not heaven alone;
The earth, the air, flowers, and leaves
Filled with passion that knows no slaking,
Yet tranquil like sleep's dream-billowed sea.
More than dream-billowed sea this love that I bring,
Its boistrous waves seek the firmament of your yielding;
While your heart-beats' arrows seek to slay my heart a'beating,
As I inhale the fragrance of your breath and hair;
And pour the perfume of my soul
On your sun-bathed feet.

THE DREAM OF HIS SOUL

THE EURASIAN

Indignity your part today,
Suffering the guerdon of the gods;
No country to claim your own,
Nowhere to lay your head.
The ocean of ignorance separates us;
The snow-storm of commerce blinds the eye;
Yet you must stand true,
Bridge of blood and flesh between the West and East.
In ages to come, when
Man will love his brother,
Irrespective of birth and breed;
In the pantheon of the future, yours the immortal seat.
Son of man, you are brother!
Bearer of the cross of God!
Your destiny the lodestar of our epoch,
Your life our rood-littered road of the Lord.
Arise, awake, halt not
Till the goal is reached;
Raise high the Host of freedom
Blare the trumpet of light.
"Suffer you, for the world to rejoice";
"Die" so they "can live";
Live that you may bring the light
To the meeting place of the West and East.

In the perfumed shrine of love,
Where burns memory's exhaustless incense
From the irridescent thurible of hope,
On the altar and couch of my heart
Rest thy limbs, O, god of my soul.
Drink of the unquenchable draught of caresses;
Tear the flowers of my dreams and fancies;
Scatter the sacred petals of my passion
To the four winds of thy rejoicing.

Thy rejoicing, that one festival of the High Gods,
Where no offering that I bring ever be too dear,
Where no soul burnt in the fire of senses can perish;
Where no suffering fails to be mother and daughter of joy.
Take all, great God among these Gods:
The pearl of my woman-soul buried in deeps of passion,
The coral-wreath from the ocean of my bleeding heart;
And ravish with exquisite merciless touch
The one star in my heaven that has led thee hither—
My life's eternity in this worship of an hour.

THE INFIRM BEGGAR SINGS

Kiss, my love, kiss
My burning, breaking being;
So when cold death
Will put out the light
In some wilderness
Of far forsaken life
Might each kiss blossom
Into a lotus and a Shephali.[2]
And in the desolate hours
Of loneliness of traveling
In the dusk of despair
One petal of these
Will cheer the vagrant souls
That tread the pathway
Of love's forsaking.
Or, when Death will sow
This Soul of mine
On the lake-shore of sorrow,
Like a weeping willow I will spring,
And with my green tresses
And bending body
Shall shelter secrecy-seeking lovers
That love for an hour,
As our twin hearts today.
Kiss then, with kisses of flame;
Touch me with rosy caresses;
Bury this, my hope, my dream,
And thy all-conquering love of me;
So the kiss-flowers may each be a dream!
May my willow be the vision of Eternal Spring.

COLOR-HARMONIES

SANATAN

(THE ABSOLUTE)[3]

COMING OF THE FOG

In love's afterglow, full of stars,
Those lilies of the river of night,
Sing no song, dear, speak no word.

The white noontide has ebbed into gold;
Shores-breaking seas cease to roar;
Lo! the moonrise of our soul.

Hardly a kiss, or the shadow of a caress;
No decking the hour with the jasmines of touch;
But a rose-petal shivering in exquisite agony—our love.

The weary sunset has grown wearier;
A vague lassitude encircles us twain,
As separation builds its pathway of tears.

Cease weeping, yet the saffron light lingers;
The stars throb in nebulous lustre,
As our hearts to the music of desire.

What matters if winter be nigh?
We sang summer to sleep,
And autumn on its bed of leaves.

Now comes the hour of parting for us,
As the last light flickers and fades;
Even love's afterglow dying, and is dead.

Alas! thou art gone, as are the hours of day;
The hard gem-burning stars do not set! Oh,
In what dark, in what forest roamest thou?

THE END

Art thou about me
Amid falling leaves
And autumn's circling winds
When the golden shadows
Grow russet and rosy
And the purple sunset sets fire to the sky?
Art thou the breath
That burns my being
When cold feel my limbs in terror, and awe?
Who art thou? My love?
Stranger in a strange garb!
Far and farther to be nearer to my heart!
Why make spring-flames leap
From passion's autumn leaves?
Why this urge through fatigue
When time falls fast asleep
Under the shadow of its grave—
The winter ice?
Yet, and yet
The circling winds
Repeat passionate speech,
The sunset burns,
As my soul
In desire's golden heat,
[29]Though night be not far
Shadows creep near
With chilling breath and clutching hands
To pluck
To destroy
The flowers of yielding from your heart:
Powerless, fear-stricken;
I tremble, I stagger, I fall
Into oblivion's pit
As time creeps
Into winter's grave
Silent, empty, white.

THE CONFLUENCE

LEO B. MIHAN

CHOPIN'S FUNERAL MARCH

In the golden afterglow you lay,
When the emerald moon
Made thin silver fog-veils
For the bride of night,
Whose saffron-sandled feet
Walked the foam-strewn floor of the sea.
In my arms you listened
To words of love
Poured by the infinite heaven of my heart,
Echoed by the endless symphony of the sky.
Your silent gaze,
Deeper than the song of the sea,
Farther than the moon,
Nearer than your own heart-beat,
Asked mine for speech.
"What can my love say
At this sad sacred hour?"
Hour of parting this!
Love's ever-feared moment,
Longing's much-dreaded end,
Yet no voice sorrows in our being,
No woe dims the moon-face tonight.
[35]Between the sheltering dunes and fading light
On an aërial couch lying,
Adorned in kiss-woven garments of nudity
Our spirits garlanded with myriad embraces,
Borne on passion's flaming wings
Cross this ocean of parting
Unto that far island of Cythera
Where only love reigns
In eternal majesty.

HENRIK IBSEN

AFTER HEARING "MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME"

THE COMING OF THE TIDE OF NIGHT

DEAD LOVE

It is the same twilight, dear,
The hour of love and tear
When in raiments of shadows
Fancies, fears, hopes, and sorrows
Tread the path of sunset,
While like barks of jet
Float the clouds from east to west.

I think of thee, my darling,
As in my heart strange chords ring
Out melodies of many memories,
And half-forgotten reveries
Telling of this or that scene,
That is and has been
Trod by thee, Queen of queens.

My dreams of thee are ceaseless,
As my love of thee is endless;
Whether it be sunset or sunrise,
Hour of star-song, or bird-cries
It is of thee that I dream,
In the heart of my soul's stream
That flows to thy feet, my darling.
[41]

Dark grows both east and west;
Flower-heads droop into rest,
As I seek to lay my heart and loving
On thy star-white breast, my darling,
And sink into that pool of sleep
That rises from thy singing's deep,
While all are silent, as my desires near thee, my Queen.

What peace thy presence breathes!
What serenity weaves its wreathes!
What myriad wonders touch hands
Across many seas, from many lands,
When a thought of thee
Heralds thy coming to me
Between palpitating desires, and fragrant dreams.

WEARINESS

REMORSE

POET

WANDERER

AT DAWN

RAINY NIGHT

GHOSTS

RAIN

What world-agony distils its poignancy this day?
What pain-laden heart pours out its exhaustless lay
Of tormenting woe and tortured silences?

From the far reaches of the marshland
Along and beyond the crescent-bed of the sea-sand
What tempest on the wave's-strings makes its cadences?

The distant hills dimmed like dull and forgotten dreams
Raise their shadowy heads where pour in streams
The tears of the heart-hollowed mourners of the skies;

While into the turgid heart of the fens at their feet
Turbidly fall and dance sheet upon sheet
To the measureless measure of the wind's empty sighs.

No light but a dismal gray, that neither throbs nor quivers
On the torn banks of the heavens' cloud-rivers,
But stonily stands still, like death that dies never.
[53]

Not-dead, but a weeping world bathing its corpses—
Its memories, its lost hopes, in regret's hearses
To be buried in flowerless graves, without incense or prayer.

It writhes in agony, rolls out in undulating rills,
This rain-melody from the sea-waves to the farthest hills,
Thence to the dreary distance lost to hearing or sight.

It is all dark and dank, a mourning of earth and heaven,
Sorrow-laden, life-weary, long-lost, death-craven,
A day lost to time, a light more baleful than night.

No dead these, but a living death seeking peace
From the furies—their own thoughts—sorrow—surcease,
Kissing the lashing wind thinking it to be the breeze.

Pour, pour, pour, O relentless, exhaustless pain!
To the measure of thine own agony, thy woe's refrain,
These desolate streams of thy music, thy pangs of a million seas.

EVENING WORSHIP

TRUCE

A PARALLEL

DISAPPOINTMENT

BUDDHA

Ask me not to stand at thy friendship's gate—
I, who loved thee, now must like a cold spectre from a far forgotten land of snow
Watch thee fall asleep on the couch of freezing friendship?
In these arms thou sought and joyed on many delights
Excavated the ruins of passion to build them anew,
Or sailed on thy wings—these arms—over love's enchanted sea.
Friendship!
Barrier not this, but a coward's refuge—
A shadow, not the rainbow-light of loving and life.
O come, my pilot, conduct the bark of our twin souls
From cold friendship's haven
Over love's boistrous desire-foam-fringéd ocean
Till in the sheer joy and fatigue of flying
We fail, fall and fade
Into the heart of Passion's another fire-born day.

AT SUNDOWN

I have drunk your tears with insatiate lips;
I have broken like a toy the heart of your life;
What have I given? your last query!
The cup of my heart filled I with love;
The chalice of soul with the substance of my God,
For thee to drink my life's first love.
Thou drankest as one that comes from a desert,
Thou spiltest the nectar heedless, like mad;
Yet I cursed not, nor shed tears;
But loved thee, longed to live for thy love.
Alas! thy tears grew salt, thy love thy self's greedy grasp,—
O, it is the end; let us part!
The morning of indifference wings the gray sky;
The bird-song of the other dawns the raven's shriek now,—
Shed no more tears, I tire of my drink;
Break not thy heart; thy soul? Let it be still!
Beyond the gray-cloud is the land of sunrise:
Let us part, dear, let us be wise.

SOUND BUTTERFLIES

(IN A FOUNTAIN)

FAREWELL

(AFTER A HINDUSTANI SONG)

Farewell, fairest of loves!
Life's most fanciful of gifts,
Joy and treasure, love and wonder,
Waking's elusive reality,
Dream's ever-yielding divinity.
Even thou must pass
Beyond time's starless bar:
Thy eyes, their lambent flames
Shall no more illumine my night;
Nor thy brow, home of many moods,
Tranquil yet tormented as a sea,
Shall ever wear the coronal of my kiss.
Ah, kisses! blisses of fire,
Passion's long lingering melody
Played by thy lips on mine.
Even they must die—
Intangible realities of rapture,
Ever present wonders of desire—
Now like autumn leaves
Fly with the west-wind of fear.
No, not fear that takes thee from me,
Nor love's slayer, satiety;
Yet art gone; thou art going.
Oh, not to crush thy heart on mine:
Thy breasts made but for my hands,
No more to quiver in rapture therein!
Who wills this cruel decree?
The warmth of thy body,
The staggering storm of thy yielding,
[73]The intoxicating perfume of thy mouth:
These, and many other endless
Viols and lutes of passion, love, life,
Delights of a thousand heavens,
Who robs them of me?
Fate! that fool in the court of love,
Who hath no wit for laughter,
Steals it all from me
In the mid-hour of life;
And as it befits his mind,
Scatters it all over the turbid
Stream of fear and lies.

SATIETY

CHATTERTON

A summer song it was,
Counting of many unseen stars
In an intangible sky
Making new milky ways—
Silver-shadow-paths that lead
From sapphire abysses
Into deeper abysses still.
The deeps of our souls
Lit by passion's burning flowers
Tremulous, timorous flames of silver,
That with thousand hands
Our hearts sought to pluck and scatter,
Or make barbéd garlands
For love's nuptial hour.
Nuptial hour, briefer than a moment,
Longer than Heaven's Eternal summer,
When each flower burns to soothe,
And each soothing petal burns anew;
Till myriad streams of fire
Strewn with countless flaming stars
Bear us to the far sea of Time
Where no summer dies,
Nor endure the stinging moments of love's winter.

"WHO KNOWS"

Time's torment,
Life's woes,
And sorrow's wan gaze
Are but shades
In a picture of light
Where nothing abides,
All things fade.
In fading there is beauty,
By shedding tears
We bathe our hearts—
Those crushed flowers full of smart—
For a deity not far from our souls.
Yet, no solace in prayer,
Pain has no largess;
Dark has stars,
But no barren earth its flowers.
All are dismal and fallow;
Yet, from the mountain's stony heart
Spring multitudinous rivers
Sparkling at dawn, and
Deepening night's gloom with mysterious murmurs;
And who knows?
These streams that pass
By the balcony of our past,
Through present's wilderness,
Into desolate future
May reach the land of the farthest star.
[79]Who knows? Ah! who knows?
May these song-rills
From my heart's little hill
Empty their singing waters
Into a sea of song-making
Where nothing endures
But the sound and echo of singing.
Where sound, and echo are one,
A moonset vale of sunset land,
Where light is wedded to shade
Without death, full of dying, yet not dead.

THE FIRST VISION

The impenetrable dark—
Darkness of cloud and night
Coming on black silent wings
Surround me in their folds,
As it sits by my side on the shore of time.

No fear, no sorrow, no hope,
Not even the footfall of a star;
Dim, deep sable tones
Rise from the organ of nothing
With its flats and sharps of clouds and night.

Ripples of moments
Waves of hours and years
Break on the shore of space
To speak vague, soundless words
To my soul, alone, shade among shades.

Not even the unheard whisper
Of the shadow of a breeze,
But silence ponderous, peaceful,
Afraid of its own self
A mute hound at my feet.

Who art thou?
Whom do I know in this emptiness?
Who has lived with me?
And called me from the deeps of time?
[81]

Recedes the bank of space;
Fades away even the unfilled time,
No light, no sound, not even a dream;
Yet who speaks through silence?
Who plays this music of night?

Like an intangible river it flows
With waves of shadow-sound
Between banks of mountainous silence—
O, who! who are you?
Light in a world of shadows,
Rainbow among sunless clouds,
Bark of song on this sea of silence,
O ferryman of the soul!
O Word on Infinite's scroll.

SHANTI [5]

ERRATA

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	POEM	PAGE
Symbolism	1	3
Source of Singing	2	4
"With purple shadows the mist measures the infinite sea"	3	5
"O, Old! O, New!"	4	6
"The far away called her"	5	8
Lassitude	6	10
"Ah! pale, cool lips that burn"	7	11
Forlorn	8	12
After a Bengali Song	9	13
Moonrise	10	14
At Ventura, California	11	15
"The same air that you breathe"	12	16
"Why this return?"	13	17
"By the verge of the woodland"	14	18
The Dream of His Soul	15	19
The Eurasian	16	20
"In the perfumed shrine of love"	17	21
The Infirm Beggar Sings	18	22
"Kiss, my love, kiss"	19	23
Color-Harmonies	20	24
Sanatan (The Absolute)	21	25
Coming of the Fog	22	26
"In love's afterglow, full of stars"	23	27
The End	24	28
The Confluence	25	30
"In the deeps of Dream"	26	31
To Leo B. Mihan	27	32
Chopin's Funeral March	28	33
"In the golden afterglow you lay"	29	34
Henrik Ibsen	30	36
After Hearing "My Old Kentucky Home"	31	37
The Coming of the Tide of Night	32	38
Dead Love	33	39
"It is the same twilight, dear"	34	40
Weariness	35	42
"A call, not a song"	36	43
Remorse	37	44
Poet	38	45
Wanderer	39	46
At Dawn	40	47
"From her many-colored bow, Nature"	41	48
"If words fail, song will come"	42	49
Rainy Night	43	50
Ghosts	44	51
Rain	45	52
Evening Worship	46	54
"The rosy mist stilly polishes the round mirror"	47	55
"The sun's golden spear"	48	56
Truce	49	57
A Parallel	50	58
"'Nothing endures,' you said"	51	59
Disappointment	52	60
Buddha	53	61
"Ask me not to stand at thy friendship's gate"	54	62
"Golden vines they"	55	63
At Sundown	56	64
"Tears well out from my heart"	57	65
"At last thou comest"	58	66
"The lingering light of the sun"	59	67
"I have drunk your tears with insatiate lips"	60	68
Sound Butterflies (In a Fountain)	61	69
"Even in sadness thou art beside me"	62	70
"By the sea of sleep walks white-robed Night"	63	71
Farewell (After a Hindustani Song)	64	72
Satiety	65	74
"Drowsy the noonday air"	66	75
Chatterton	67	76
"A summer song it was"	68	77
"Who Knows"	69	78
The First Vision	70	80
Shanti	71	82