Three be the ways of love: a knitting of heart to heart;
a pleasing of lips and eyes; a third love whose name is death.

Best of all Constantia proved —
Best of all her truth I loved;
Free as air and fixed as Fate,
Fitted for a hero's mate.
Beauty dear Constantia had,
Fit to make a lover mad;
Every grace she 'd gently turn
Strong to do and swift to learn;
Truthful as the twilight sky
Was her melting, lustrous eye —
Full of sweetness as the South
Was her firm and handsome mouth.

Child of conscience, child of truth, —
Treasures far outlasting youth, —
Would my verse had but the power
Again to shape that brightest hour

Pierced with the arrow of wisdom, O Dharni, startled sleepers suddenly awoke.
The poisoned bonds of evil were loosened: they were steeped in the perfect pure nectar of love.
They cared no more for arguings, wrangles and dogma: all they had relished, they now abandoned.
Their eyes were closed from the very moment, that the inward sight in the heart was theirs.

A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold,
Tied round the hand by loving sister's hands,
A sacred day in Sravan , when the lands
Are bathed in welcome rain, is said to hold
A potent charm for good. From days of old
This pretty faith has come and happy bands
Of brothers still pay heed to its commands
One day each year. Who will be rashly bold
And flout this festival as void of worth —
An ancient mummery — to which man shows

If any hungers for the love of Gopala,
The life of such a dervesh as he is rare indeed.
They are happy resting on the image of the Lord.
The world they have forsaken and upon faith taken their stand.
From no one do they need to ask: another thought fills their mind.
They roam as men inebriated — and of their bodies take no heed.
Maluk says — They see the Peerless.
They have no concern with others but are within enlightened.

Fair and good it is to me when once again I see the leaf on the bough and the fresh flower, when the birds sing in the greenwood tree, and the true lovers are gay with love. Lover and in love am I, but I have suffered so many woes for so long that I am a little crazy.
But I love with all my reason and desire both Love and Youth and all that's beautiful to me; at the touch of joy I live and am renewed like the fruit on the bough when the birds sing: for in my heart I have leaves and flowers which keep me green and happy all the year, wherefore I feel no pain.

Then was I one with Him, O brother: I met my love and found true knowledge.

By the touch of the magic stone I was the giver of bliss: then the folly of distinction was cast away.
In Malayagiri I found the secret: then delusions of race, and caste and family were done away.

The water, brought near to the ocean of Hari, to the uttermost drop was absorbed therein.
Vanished the secrets of all varied illusions: then in the one colour Dadu was dyed.

Dearest, I know that thy body is but transitory; that the kindled life, thy shining eyes, shall be quenched by the touch of death, I know; that this thy body, the meeting-place of all beauty, in seeing which I count my life well-lived, shall become but a heap of bones, I know. Yet I love thy body. Day by day afresh through it have I satisfied a woman's love and desire by serving thy feet and worshipping thee. On days of good omen I have decked thee with a flower-garland; on days of woe I have wiped away with my sari end thy tears of grief.

Easance and strength and sense from me ravished clean
Of a stony-hearted, silver-eared fair have been;

An agile, Peri-like, humoursome, tricksy maid,
A subtle, moon-favoured, open-vest wearing quean.

For the heat of the fire of the frenzy of love for her,
I'm still, like the cauldron, a-boil with dole and teen.

If her, like the tunic, I had in my embrace,
Shift-like, I were tranquil ever of mind and mien.

At her oppression I carp not, for, thorns without,
The rose none findeth nor stingless is honey seen.

O long black hair of love,
In your dark shades a dove,
My heart, circles in rings,
Beating white wings.