Short Poems

With cheerful aspect full of reverence, with robe of white and scarlet hue, her brow serene with its two eyes, my dear delight appeared to me in sleep.
I kneeled before her and with gracious love she spoke and I took counsel with her how to live in this my exile, weeping the while and waiting her reply.
She listened, gazing at me, and spoke to me most heavenly things, and I now learn them and keep them still concealed in my memory.
At last she left me and departed, scattering roses and violets through the air: I stretched my hand out to them, then did chide myself.

The best of all the proverbs be
Those which are clad in euphony,
And wisdom is a sweeter meat
If no line has too many feet.

O sweet and solitary woods, friends to my weary downcast thoughts, while in these troubled and imperfect days the north wind folds the earth and air in rugged frost;
On either hand your green and shadowy tresses seem, like mine own, ancient and white, now that your open glades in place of bright and crimson flowers bear ice and snow:
Musing I go in the brief misty light that is left me; my spirits and limbs are turned to ice:
But more than you I freeze without and within; for to me my winter brings a crueller wind, a longer night, and colder, scantier days.

O sleep, O gentle child of the cool, still, shadowy Night, thou sick men's comforter, thou sweet oblivion of mortal woes that make our life so heavy and so harsh;
Oh! succour now my heart that pines and hath no rest, sustain these frail and weary limbs: fly to me, Sleep, and over me extend and stay thy dusky wings!
Where now is Silence that doth shun the day? And those light visions that with tremulous steps are wont to follow thee?
Alas! In vain I do invoke thee and in vain I flatter these dark cooling shades. O rugged hills of down! O harsh and bitter nights!

Change we our theme, there's too much song of love. It is but noise, let's sing the pruning-hook; all dressers of the vine make use of it, their helper in the trimming of the vine. O pruning-hook, O little pruning-hook, by thee the little vine is tumbled down whereby each year the good wines issue forth!
Vulcan, the god, the high gods' blacksmith, in heaven forged the sharp pruning-hook of fine steel tempered in old wine to make it sharper and more valiant! Bacchus doth praise it, says 'tis good and right that good-man Noah should have it to prune the vine-yards in their season.

O Lord, I am Thy servant,
Night and day I chant Thy Name, and I sing Thy praises.
Thou my soul, my life, my wealth: for none else I leave Thee.
At Thy lotus feet a bee, in bliss is Ratan Hari.

O Mind, when wilt thou sing Raghubir's glories.
Thou hast gained this hard-won human form: to thee this chance comes not again.
If thy mouth knows not Hari's praise, and held by Maya thou vainly waste each moment,
Thou wilt fall, fool, beneath Jama's way thou wilt lament in frantic frenzy.
O Kushala Das, fix in thy heart the Master's feet: if ever on the Lord Bhagwan thy mind is set,
This blessedness is thine, that hither thou wilt come again no more.

O Lord, respect the honour of Thy word.
The secrets of all hearts Thou knowest, from the ocean of dread to safety draw me.
Take no accounts of my demerits, as thou knowest best, so save the sinner.
With Hari has Janaki Das sought refuge of coming, going end his doom.

I am the Sat Guru's slave girl, the Immortal city is my home.
In my father's house I am troubled, oppressed with grief by day by night.
Parents, brother's wives and brothers, are a noose of love that holds me fast.
Illusion, lust in a snare have bound me, the destroyer of understanding haunts me.
Within my heart no peace abideth, fain would I dwell with the Beloved.
Send to bring me home thy escort, for my coming light the marriage torch.
Tulsi, from the Immortal Lover a bitter grief is separation.

Where must I search, O my mother? Without the guide the secret's hid.
In searching searching life has wasted: none by searching showed me aught.
I searched in every path and habit, watched Jogi, Bairagi, Gusain.
Now my mind cries loud and louder, in this body save, O save me.
With ease is hope fulfilled, O Tulsi, when the Sat Guru shows the Unseen.