I know, my friend, that truth is widowed without
love, and beauty dwells not with the many, nor in the moment."
31
In the youth of the world, Himalaya, you sprang from the rent breast of the
earth, and hurled your burning challenges to the sun, hill after hill. Then
came the mellow time when you said to yourself, "No more, no further!" and
your fiery heart, that raged for the freedom of clouds, found its limits,
and stood still to salute the limitless. After this check on your passion,
beauty was free to play upon your breast, and trust surrounded you with the
joy of flowers and birds.
You sit in your solitude like a great reader, on whose lap lies open some
ancient book with its countless pages of stone. What story is written
there, I wonder?--is it the eternal wedding of the divine ascetic, Shiva,
with Bhavani, the divine love?--the drama of the Terrible wooing the power
of the Frail?
32
I feel that my heart will leave its own colour in all your scenes, O Earth,
when I bid you farewell.
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