THE LOTUS.

 

Lotus, tender flower

Of the crystal wave,

Whence thy magic power

Say, for thou dost save

Anon from chilling thoughts and Sorrow’s wretched slave.

 

Young when Phoebus rises

Through the misty veil,

Under his flaming kisses,

Like an approving green with passion trembling frail.

 

Yet how coy and distant

To the languid moon;

Whose bloodless beams extend

To embrace thee soon.

But thwarted by thy shrunken frown do pining swoon!

 

Can the green and diamond

Paving soft thy floor,

Dance, thou spirit jocund,

Laughing evermore

Dance, dance and laugh for pain did never reach thy shore,

 

Like a naiad lovely

With her sister nymphs,

All the day full gaily

To celestial hymns

Still dancing stately measures unwearied in her limbs.

 

As thy breath delicious

Overflows the air,

Heavenward rising wishes

Free from guilt or care,

Inspire the soul till it sparkles as thy water clear

 

Sweet as is thy fragrance

Holy, deep, serene

Never sensuous joyance

Wild and gross and keen,

Thy pious petals breathe, for godly is thy mien.

 

Like a saintly maiden

Clothed in purest thought,

Whom passions never madden

With vexation fraught,

Thy sister white communes with Heaven that rains the peace she sought.

Like a mild beamed star

Of the clear azure,

Sending from a far

Her tranquil light and pure

When clouds, like evil thoughts, do not her orb obscure.

 

Sounds of war or strife

Shaking souls that bloom

On the vale of life,

Do not yell their bloom

To mar the sacred calm that reigns within thy home!

 

Nature’s heart unfolded,

Shedding love and bliss,

Till the world be moulded

Into a soul of peace

Where tenderness wells up and furious never hiss!

 

Music sweet unearthly

From thy presence rains

Heard by mortals hardly

But whence their spirit reigns

In ecstasy upraised from lulled corporeal trains.

A. SUBRAHMANYAM.