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Why should I fear the jealous dawn that spreads with cruel laughter,
Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?
Haste, O wild-bee hours to the gardens of the sunset!
Fly, wild-parrot day to the orchards of the west!
Come, O tender night, with your sweet, consoling darkness,
And bring me my Beloved to the shelter of my breast!
[Amar Singh in the saddle]
O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand that flutters,
Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride,
O Love! were you a turban-spray or floating heron-feather,
The radiant, swift, unconquered sword that swingeth at my side;
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