Four Indian Love Lyrics

The temple bells are ringing,
The young green corn is springing,
And the marriage month is drawing very near.
I lie hidden in the grass,
And I count the moments pass,
For the month of marriages is very near .

 ... 

She is young and very sweet,
From the silver on her feet
To the silver and the flowers in her hair,
And her beauty makes me swoon,
As the Moghra trees at noon
Intoxicate the hot and quivering air.

Ah, I would the hours were fleet
As her silver circled feet,
I am weary of the daytime and the night;
I am weary unto death,
Oh my rose with jasmin breath,
With this longing for your beauty and your light.

Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,
Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,
Even less than these!

Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,
Less than the speed of hours, spent far from thee,
Less than the need thou hast in life of me.
Even less am I.

Since I, O Lord, am nothing unto thee,
See here thy Sword, I make it keen and bright,
Love's last reward, Death, comes to me to-night,
Farewell, Zahir-u-din.

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar,
  Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?
Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway, far,
  Before you agonise them in farewell?

 ... 

Pale hands, pink tipped, like Lotus buds that float
  On those cool waters where we used to dwell,
I would have rather felt you round my throat,
  Crushing out life, than waving me farewell!

When I am dying, lean over me tenderly, softly,
Stoop, as the yellow roses droop in the wind from the South,
So I may when I wake, if there be an Awakening,
Keep, what lulled me to sleep, the touch of your lips on my mouth.