Melting treasure of creation,
O Shravan rich in colors!
suspend arching above the peaks
the radiant rainbow
of your art.
Ray-woven in the flow of mists
new archer's bow
shooting its flower shafts
into the heart of the eye,
vibrant with new emotions.

The first poet,
then drops of water from the eyes —
rays rose, rays fell,
reached Heaven
to touch the earth.

Did truth ever before
fuse in such crazy hues?
Did the lashes of the Creation sprite
spill such sparkle,
applying first
collyrium —
mingling a new bride's joy and woe
glistening in the fringe?

Is this the river
of the seven tones unheard?
the gorgeous marriage
of loving sunlight and shadow?
cataract of colors
or showers of grief and pleasure,
of murmured sounds?

A magic bird, water its body,
swaying like a flower,
bridge linking peak to peak —
why has it shone forth,
this heavenly spectacle?
The delicate nightingales are singing,
hurrah! in vision and in sound
supreme triumph of art.

Tell me, why are you shining?
would you join together
riven heaven and earth
or sundered god and man?

Witch light of splintered rays,
deep-hued prism!
Dense particles of water
all turn to butterflies,
to burn their ecstasy.

Self-sacrificer,
teach the cloud
to die!
Teach the earth
to thrill,