Two Eastern Pictures

Spring the warrior hither comes,
bowstring formed by rows of bees.
And his darts tipp'd with buds
wound our hearts with sweet lovelonging.
 
Now the trees put forth their flowers,
on the lakes the lilies fair
show their heads midst the waves
melting hearts with sweet lovelonging.
 
What fair maid can vie with spring?
What sweet voice the cuckoo's song?
Or smiling teeth the jasmine's hue?
Or rosy lips the op'ning flowers?
 
Bending down with blushing buds,
flaming mango branches wave
to and fro with the breeze
filling hearts with sweet lovelonging.
 
And within the lotus flower
dwells her love, the murm'ring bee
who with kiss and embrace
satisfies her sweet lovelonging.

The fierce glaring day is gone.
Gentle night hath spread her mantel
cool and refreshing,
lit by rays of a thousand stars
and by the golden moon.
 
The moon shineth on yon roof.
Here lie maidens, crowned with jasmine,
clad in silk rayment,
on their ankles are rings that
tinkle sweetly as they move.
 
Wafted by jewelcovered fans,
sweetest perfume floats o'er each breast.
Song and harp unite with warbling birds
to rouse from sleep the god of love.