10
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: leave it in the dark.
What if her beauty be of the figure and her smile merely of the face? Let
me take without question the simple meaning of her glances and be happy.
I care not if it be a web of delusion that her arms wind about me, for the
web itself is rich and rare, and the deceit can be smiled at and forgotten.
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: be content if the music is
true, though the words are not to be believed; enjoy the grace that dances
like a lily on the rippling, deceiving surface, whatever may lie beneath.
11
Neither mother nor daughter are you, nor bride, Urvashi.[1] Woman you are,
to ravish the soul of Paradise.
[Footnote 1: The dancing girl of Paradise who rose from the sea.]
When weary-footed evening comes down to the folds whither the cattle have
returned, you never trim the house lamps nor walk to the bridal bed with a
tremulous heart and a wavering smile on your lips, glad that the dark hours
are so secret.
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