_A sad, sad thought went by me slowly: Sigh, O you little stars! O, sigh and shake your blue apparel! The sad, sad thought has gone from me now wholly: Sing, O you little stars! O sing, and raise your rapturous carol To mighty Brahma, who has made you many as the sands, And laid you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands._ [_Sits down on the steps of the temple_] Vijaya, I have brought my evening rice; The sun has laid his chin on the gray wood, Weary, with all his poppies gathered round him. VIJAYA. The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter, Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows, Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs. ANASHUYA. See how the sacred old flamingoes come, Painting with shadow all the marble steps: Aged and wise, they seek their wonted perches Within the temple, devious walking, made To wander by their melancholy minds. Yon tall one eyes my supper; swiftly chase him Far, far away. I named him after you. He is a famous fisher; hour by hour He ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams. Ah! there he snaps my rice. I told you so. Now cuff him off. He’s off! A kiss for you, Because you saved my rice. Have you no thanks? VIJAYA [_sings_] _Sing you of her, O first few stars, Whom Brahma, touching with his finger, praises, for you hold The van of wandering quiet; ere you be too calm and old, Sing, turning in your cars, Sing, till you raise your hands and sigh, and from your car heads peer, With all your whirling hair, and drop tear upon azure tear._ ANASHUYA. What know the pilots of the stars of tears? VIJAYA. Their faces are all worn, and in their eyes Flashes the fire of sadness, for they see The icicles that famish all the north, Where men lie frozen in the glimmering snow; And in the flaming forests cower the lion And lioness, with all their whimpering cubs; And, ever pacing on the verge of things, The phantom, Beauty, in a mist of tears; While we alone have round us woven woods, And feel the softness of each other’s hand, Amrita, while— ANASHUYA [_going away from him_]. Ah me, you love another, [_Bursting into tears_] And may some dreadful ill befall her quick! VIJAYA. I loved another; now I love no other. Among the mouldering of ancient woods You live, and on the village border she, With her old father the blind wood-cutter; I saw her standing in her door but now. ANASHUYA. Vijaya, swear to love her never more. VIJAYA. Ay, ay. ANASHUYA.