No More Learning

My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim
distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am
bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not
the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine
takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in
the house where I dwell alone!



6


The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to wood. "
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the
cage. "
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread
one's wings? "
"Alas," cries the cage bird, "I should not know where to sit
perched in the sky. "

The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the
woodlands. "
The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of
the learned. "
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught. "
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the
woodlands. "

Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing
to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to
know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my
love! "
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of
the cage. "
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead. "



7


O mother, the young Prince is to pass by our door,--how can I
attend to my work this morning?
Show me how to braid up my hair; tell me what garment to put on.
Why do you look at me amazed, mother?
I know well he will not glance up once at my window; I know he
will pass out of my sight in the twinkling of an eye; only the
vanishing strain of the flute will come sobbing to me from
afar.
But the young Prince will pass by our door, and I will put on my
best for the moment.

O mother, the young Prince did pass by our door, and the morning
sun flashed from his chariot.
I swept aside the veil from my face, I tore the ruby chain from
my neck and flung it in his path.
Why do you look at me amazed, mother?
I know well he did not pick up my chain; I know it was crushed
under his wheels leaving a red stain upon the dust, and no one
knows what my gift was nor to whom.
But the young Prince did pass by our door, and I flung the jewel
from my breast before his path.



8


When the lamp went out by my bed I woke up with the early birds.
I sat at my open window with a fresh wreath on my loose hair.
The young traveller came along the road in the rosy mist of the
morning.
A pearl chain was on his neck, and the sun's rays fell on his
crown. He stopped before my door and asked me with an eager
cry, "Where is she? "
For very shame I could not say, "She is I, young traveller, she
is I. "

It was dusk and the lamp was not lit.
I was listlessly braiding my hair.
The young traveller came on his chariot in the glow of the
setting sun.
His horses were foaming at the mouth, and there was dust on his
garment.
He alighted at my door and asked in a tired voice, "Where is
she? "
For very shame I could not say, "She is I, weary traveller, she
is I. "

It is an April night. The lamp is burning in my room.
The breeze of the south comes gently. The noisy parrot sleeps in
its cage.
My bodice is of the colour of the peacock's throat, and my mantle
is green as young grass.
I sit upon the floor at the window watching the deserted street.
Through the dark night I keep humming, "She is I, despairing
traveller, she is I. "



9


When I go alone at night to my love-tryst, birds do not sing, the
wind does not stir, the houses on both sides of the street
stand silent.
It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am
ashamed.

When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps, leaves do
not rustle on the trees, and the water is still in the river
like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep.
It is my own heart that beats wildly--I do not know how to quiet
it.

When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and
my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the
lamp, and the clouds draw veils over the stars.
It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. I
do not know how to hide it.



10


Let your work be, bride. Listen, the guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking the chain which fastens the
door?
See that your anklets make no loud noise, and that your step is
not over-hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest has come in the evening.

No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of April; shadows are pale in the
courtyard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if you must, carry the lamp to the
door if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, do not be frightened.

Have no word with him if you are shy; stand aside by the door
when you meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if you wish to, you can lower your
eyes in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle when, lamp in hand, you lead him
in.
Have no word with him if you are shy.

Have you not finished your work yet, bride? Listen, the guest
has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering basket for the evening
service?
Have you not put the red lucky mark at the parting of your hair,
and done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has come?
Let your work be!



11


Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If your braided hair has loosened, if the parting of your hair be
not straight, if the ribbons of your bodice be not fastened, do
not mind.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.

Come, with quick steps over the grass.
If the raddle come from your feet because of the dew, if the
rings of bells upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop out of
your chain, do not mind.
Come with quick steps over the grass.

Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the further river-bank and fitful
gusts of wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?

In vain you light your toilet lamp--it flickers and goes out in
the wind.
Who can know that your eyelids have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker than rain-clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp--it goes out.

Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who cares; if the wrist-chain has not
been linked, let it be.
The sky is overcast with clouds--it is late.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.



12


If you would be busy and fill your pitcher, come, O come to my
lake.
The water will cling round your feet and babble its secret.
The shadow of the coming rain is on the sands, and the clouds
hang low upon the blue lines of the trees like the heavy hair
above your eyebrows.
I know well the rhythm of your steps, they are beating in my
heart.
Come, O come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher.

If you would be idle and sit listless and let your pitcher float
on the water, come, O come to my lake.
The grassy slope is green, and the wild flowers beyond number.
Your thoughts will stray out of your dark eyes like birds from
their nests.
Your veil will drop to your feet.
Come, O come to my lake if you must sit idle.

If you would leave off your play and dive in the water, come, O
come to my lake.
Let your blue mantle lie on the shore; the blue water will cover
you and hide you.
The waves will stand a-tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in
your ears.
Come, O come to my lake, if you would dive in the water.

If you must be mad and leap to your death, come, O come to my
lake.
It is cool and fathomlessly deep.
It is dark like a sleep that is dreamless.
There in its depths nights and days are one, and songs are
silence.
Come, O come to my lake, if you would plunge to your death.



13


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 bees came humming one by one.
On the side of the pond the gate of _Shiva's_ temple was
opened and the worshipper had begun his chants.
With the vessel on your lap you were milking the cow.
I stood with my empty can.

I did not come near you.
The sky woke with the sound of the gong at the temple.
The dust was raised in the road from the hoofs of the driven
cattle.
With the gurgling pitchers at their hips, women came from the
river.
Your bracelets were jingling, and foam brimming over the jar.
The morning wore on and I did not come near you.



14


I was walking by the road, I do not know why, when the noonday
was past and bamboo branches rustled in the wind.
The prone shadows with their out-stretched arms clung to the feet
of the hurrying light.
The _koels_ were weary of their songs.
I was walking by the road, I do not know why.

The hut by the side of the water is shaded by an overhanging
tree.
Some one was busy with her work, and her bangles made music in
the corner.
I stood before this hut, I know not why.

The narrow winding road crosses many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
It passes by the temple of the village and the market at the
river landing place.
I stopped by this hut, I do not know why.

Years ago it was a day of breezy March when the murmur of the
spring was languorous, and mango blossoms were dropping on the
dust.
The rippling water leapt and licked the brass vessel that stood
on the landing step.
I think of that day of breezy March, I do not know why.

Shadows are deepening and cattle returning to their folds.
The light is grey upon the lonely meadows, and the villagers are
waiting for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly return upon my steps, I do not know why.



15


I run as a musk-deer runs in the shadow of the forest mad with
his own perfume.
The night is the night of mid-May, the breeze is the breeze of
the south.
I lose my way and I wander, I seek what I cannot get, I get what
I do not seek.

From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire.
The gleaming vision flits on.
I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray.
I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.



16


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 in 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 withholding, revealing and screening
again; some smiles and some little shyness, and some sweet
useless struggles.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.

No mystery beyond the present; no striving for the impossible; no
shadow behind the charm; no groping in the depth of the dark.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.

We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; we do not
raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope.
It is enough what we give and we get.
We have not crushed the joy to the utmost to wring from it the
wine of pain.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.



17


The yellow bird sings in their tree and makes my heart dance with
gladness.
We both live in the same village, and that is our one piece of
joy.
Her pair of pet lambs come to graze in the shade of our garden
trees.
If they stray into our barley field, I take them up in my arms.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our
river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.

Only one field lies between us.
Bees that have hived in our grove go to seek honey in theirs.
Flowers launched from their landing-stairs come floating by the
stream where we bathe.
Baskets of dried _kusm_ flowers come from their fields to
our market.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our
river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.

The lane that winds to their house is fragrant in the spring with
mango flowers.
When their linseed is ripe for harvest the hemp is in bloom in
our field.
The stars that smile on their cottage send us the same twinkling
look.
The rain that floods their tank makes glad our _kadam_
forest.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our
river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.



18


When the two sisters go to fetch water, they come to this spot
and they smile.
They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands
behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach
this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who
stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot,
and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-stepping feet, which makes
confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.
19


You walked by the riverside path with the full pitcher upon your
hip.
Why did you swiftly turn your face and peep at me through your
fluttering veil?
That gleaming look from the dark came upon me like a breeze that
sends a shiver through the rippling water and sweeps away to
the shadowy shore.
It came to me like the bird of the evening that hurriedly flies
across the lampless room from the one open window to the other,
and disappears in the night.
You are hidden as a star behind the hills, and I am a passer-by
upon the road.
But why did you stop for a moment and glance at my face through
your veil while you walked by the riverside path with the full
pitcher upon your hip?



20


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.



21


Why did he choose to come to my door, the wandering youth, when
the day dawned?
As I come in and out I pass by him every time, and my eyes are
caught by his face.
I know not if I should speak to him or keep silent. Why did he
choose to come to my door?

The cloudy nights in July are dark; the sky is soft blue in the
autumn; the spring days are restless with the south wind.
He weaves his songs with fresh tunes every time.
I turn from my work and my eyes fill with the mist. Why did he
choose to come to my door?



22


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.



23


Why do you sit there and jingle your bracelets in mere idle
sport?
Fill your pitcher. It is time for you to come home.

Why do you stir the water with your hands and fitfully glance at
the road for some one in mere idle sport?
Fill your pitcher and come home.

The morning hours pass by--the dark water flows on.
The waves are laughing and whispering to each other in mere idle
sport.

The wandering clouds have gathered at the edge of the sky on
yonder rise of the land.
They linger and look at your face and smile in mere idle sport.
Fill your pitcher and come home.



24


Do not keep to yourself the secret of your heart, my friend!
Say it to me, only to me, in secret.
You who smile so gently, softly whisper, my heart will hear it,
not my ears.

The night is deep, the house is silent, the birds' nests are
shrouded with sleep.
Speak to me through hesitating tears, through faltering smiles,
through sweet shame and pain, the secret of your heart!



25


"Come to us, youth, tell us truly why there is madness in your
eyes? "
"I know not what wine of wild poppy I have drunk, that there is
this madness in my eyes. "
"Ah, shame! "
"Well, some are wise and some foolish, some are watchful and some
careless. There are eyes that smile and eyes that weep--and
madness is in my eyes. "

"Youth, why do you stand so still under the shadow of the tree? "
"My feet are languid with the burden of my heart, and I stand
still in the shadow. "
"Ah, shame! "
"Well, some march on their way and some linger, some are free and
some are fettered--and my feet are languid with the burden of
my heart. "



26


"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 by only cruel glances? "
"I will keep them piercing my heart. "
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one
has. "



27


"Trust love even if it brings sorrow. Do not close up your
heart. "
"Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand
them. "

"The heart is only for giving away with a tear and a song, my
love. "
"Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand
them. "

"Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But
sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your
eyes. "
"Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand
them. "

"The lotus blooms in the sight of the sun, and loses all that it
has. It would not remain in bud in the eternal winter mist. "
"Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand
them. "



28


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. Where are its shores and its
bottom?
You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its queen.
If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an easy
smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.
If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,
reflecting its inmost secret without a word.
But it is love, my beloved.
Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants and
wealth.
It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know
it.



29


Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang.
The night is dark. The stars are lost in clouds. The wind is
sighing through the leaves.
I will let loose my hair. My blue cloak will cling round me like
night. I will clasp your head to my bosom; and there in the
sweet loneliness murmur on your heart. I will shut my eyes and
listen. I will not look in your face.
When your words are ended, we will sit still and silent. Only
the trees will whisper in the dark.
The night will pale. The day will dawn. We shall look at each
other's eyes and go on our different paths.
Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang.



30


You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams.
I paint you and fashion you ever with my love longings.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams!

Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart's desire,
Gleaner of my sunset songs!
Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome dreams!

With the shadow of my passion have I darkened your eyes, Haunter
of the depth of my gaze!
I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the net of my music.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless dreams!



31


My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your
eyes.
They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the
stars.
My songs are lost in their depths.
Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity.
Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.



32


Tell me if this be all true, my lover, tell me if this be true.
When these eyes flash their lightning the dark clouds in your
breast make stormy answer.
Is it true that my lips are sweet like the opening bud of the
first conscious love?
Do the memories of vanished months of May linger in my limbs?
Does the earth, like a harp, shiver into songs with the touch of
my feet?
Is it then true that the dewdrops fall from the eyes of night
when I am seen, and the morning light is glad when it wraps my
body round?
Is it true, is it true, that your love travelled alone through
ages and worlds in search of me?
That when you found me at last, your age-long desire found utter
peace in my gentle speech and my eyes and lips and flowing
hair?
Is it then true that the mystery of the Infinite is written on
this little forehead of mine?
Tell me, my lover, if all this be true.



33


I love you, beloved. Forgive me my love.
Like a bird losing its way I am caught.
When my heart was shaken it lost its veil and was naked. Cover
it with pity, beloved, and forgive me my love.

If you cannot love me, beloved, forgive me my pain.
Do not look askance at me from afar.
I will steal back to my corner and sit in the dark.
With both hands I will cover my naked shame.
Turn your face from me, beloved, and forgive me my pain.

If you love me, beloved, forgive me my joy.
When my heart is borne away by the flood of happiness, do not
smile at my perilous abandonment.
When I sit on my throne and rule you with my tyranny of love,
when like a goddess I grant you my favour, bear with my pride,
beloved, and forgive me my joy.



34


Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I have watched all night, and now my eyes are heavy with sleep.
I fear lest I lose you when I am sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

I start up and stretch my hands to touch you. I ask myself, "Is
it a dream? "
Could I but entangle your feet with my heart and hold them fast
to my breast!
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.



35


Lest I should know you too easily, you play with me.
You blind me with flashes of laughter to hide your tears.
I know, I know your art.
You never say the word you would.

Lest I should not prize you, you elude me in a thousand ways.
Lest I should confuse you with the crowd, you stand aside.
I know, I know your art,
You never walk the path you would.

Your claim is more than that of others, that is why you are
silent.
With playful carelessness you avoid my gifts.
I know, I know your art,
You never will take what you would.



36


He whispered, "My love, raise your eyes. "
I sharply chid him, and said "Go! "; but he did not stir.
He stood before me and held both my hands. I said, "Leave me! ";
but he did not go.

He brought his face near my ear. I glanced at him and said,
"What a shame! "; but he did not move.
His lips touched my cheek. I trembled and said, "You dare too
much;" but he had no shame.

He put a flower in my hair. I said, "It is useless! "; but he
stood unmoved.
He took the garland from my neck and went away. I weep and ask
my heart, "Why does he not come back? "



37


Would you put your wreath of fresh flowers on my neck, fair one?
But you must know that the one wreath that I had woven is for the
many, for those who are seen in glimpses, or dwell in lands
unexplored, or live in poets' songs.

It is too late to ask my heart in return for yours.
There was a time when my life was like a bud, all its perfume was
stored in its core.
Now it is squandered far and wide.
Who knows the enchantment that can gather and shut it up again?
My heart is not mine to give to one only, it is given to the
many.



38


My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his
mind.
Alas, I was not careful, and it struck your ringing anklets and
came to grief.
It broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.
All my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the
laughing waves and soaked in tears and sank.
You must make this loss good to me, my love.
If my claims to immortal fame after death are shattered, make me
immortal while I live.
And I will not mourn for my loss nor blame you.



39


I try to weave a wreath all the morning, but the flowers slip and
they drop out.
You sit there watching me in secret through the corner of your
prying eyes.
Ask those eyes, darkly planning mischief, whose fault it was.

I try to sing a song, but in vain.
A hidden smile trembles on your lips, ask of it the reason of my
failure.
Let your smiling lips say on oath how my voice lost itself in
silence like a drunken bee in the lotus.

It is evening, and the time for the flowers to close their
petals.
Give me leave to sit by your side, and bid my lips to do the work
that can be done in silence and in the dim light of stars.



40


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 not send it away with ungentle
haste.