The sky is clouded; and the wood resembles
The sky, thick arched with a black tamala boughs;
“Oh Radha, Radha! Take this soul that trembles
In life's deep midnight, to thy Golden house.”
So Nanda spoke -- and led by Radha’s spirit,
The feet of Krishna found the road aright;
Wherefore, in bliss which all high hearts inherit,
Together taste they love's divine delight.
He who wrote these things for thee,
Of the son of Wassoodee,
Was the poet Jayadeva,
Him Saraswati gave ever
Fancies fair his mind to throng,
Like pictures palace walls along;
Ever to his notes of Love
Lakshmi's mystic dancers move.
If thy spirit seeks to brood
On Hari glorious Hari good;
If it feeds on solemn numbers
Dim as dreams and soft as slumbers,
Lend thine ear to Jayadev,
Lord of all spells that save.
Umapatidhara's strain
Glows like roses after rain;
Sharan's stream like song is grand,
If it is tide ye understand;
Bard more wise beneath the sun
Is not found them Govardhun;
Doyi holds the listener still
With his slokes of subtle skill;
But for sweet words suited well
Jayadeva doth excel.