The Genesis of the Butterfly

The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write


The Gardener XXVIII Your Questioning Eyes

Your questioning eyes are sad. They
seek to know my meaning as the moon
would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your
eyes from end to end, with nothing
hidden or held back. That is why you
know me not.
If it were only a gem, I could break
it into a hundred pieces and string
them into a chain to put on your neck.
If it were only a flower, round and
small and sweet, I could pluck it from
its stem to set it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my beloved.


The Gardener XXVI What Comes From Your Willing Hands

"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
"But if there be thorns?"
"I will endure them."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
"But if there be only cruel


The Gardener XXII When She Passed by Me

When she passed by me with quick
steps, the end of her skirt touched
me.
From the unknown island of a
heart came a sudden warm breath of
spring.
A flutter of a flitting touch brushed
me and vanished in a moment, like a
torn flower petal blown in the breeze.
It fell upon my heart like a sigh of
her body and whisper of her heart.


The Gardener XX Day After Day He Comes

Day after day he comes and goes
away.
Go, and give him a flower from my
hair, my friend.
If he asks who was it that sent it, I
entreat you do not tell him my name--
for he only comes and goes away.
He sits on the dust under the tree.
Spread there a seat with flowers and
leaves, my friend.
His eyes are sad, and they bring
sadness to my heart.
He does not speak what he has in
mind; he only comes and goes away.


The Gardener XVI Hands Cling to Eyes

Hands cling to hands and eyes linger
on eyes: thus begins the record of our
hearts.
It is the moonlit night of March;
the sweet smell of henna is in the air;
my flute lies on the earth neglected
and your garland of flowers is
unfinished.
This love between you and me is
simple as a song.
Your veil of the saffron colour
makes my eyes drunk.
The jasmine wreath that you wove
me thrills to my heart like praise.
It is a game of giving and with-


The Gardener XLVI You Left Me

You left me and went on your way.
I thought I should mourn for you
and set your solitary image in my
heart wrought in a golden song.
But ah, my evil fortune, time is
short.
Youth wanes year after year; the
spring days are fugitive; the frail
flowers die for nothing, and the wise
man warns me that life is but a
dewdrop on the lotus leaf.
Should I neglect all this to gaze after
one who has turned her back on me?
That would be rude and foolish,
for time is short.


The Gardener XLIV Reverend Sir, Forgive

Reverend sir, forgive this pair of
sinners. Spring winds to-day are
blowing in wild eddies, driving dust
and dead leaves away, and with them
your lessons are all lost.
Do not say, father, that life is a
vanity.
For we have made truce with death
for once, and only for a few fragrant
hours we two have been made immortal.
Even if the king's army came and
fiercely fell upon us we should sadly
shake our heads and say, Brothers,
you are disturbing us. If you must


The Gardener XL An Unbelieving Smile

An unbelieving smile flits on your
eyes when I come to you to take my
leave.
I have done it so often that you
think I will soon return.
To tell you the truth I have the
same doubt in my mind.
For the spring days come again
time after time; the full moon takes
leave and comes on another visit,
the flowers come again and blush
upon their branches year after year,
and it is likely that I take my leave
only to come to you again.
But keep the illusion awhile; do


The Gardener XIII I Asked Nothing

I asked nothing, only stood at the
edge of the wood behind the tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes
of the dawn, and the dew in the air.
The lazy smell of the damp grass
hung in the thin mist above the earth.
Under the banyan tree you were
milking the cow with your hands,
tender and fresh as butter.
And I was standing still.
I did not say a word. It was the
bird that sang unseen from the thicket.
The mango tree was shedding its
flowers upon the village road, and the


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