LXI

    I doubt not that celestial maidens sweet
  With pointed bracelet gems will prick thee there
    To make of thee a shower-bath in the heat;
  Frighten the playful girls if they should dare
  To keep thee longer, friend, with thunder’s harshest blare.

  LXII

    Drink where the golden lotus dots the lake;
  Serve Indra’s elephant as a veil to hide
    His drinking; then the tree of wishing shake,
  Whose branches like silk garments flutter wide: 
  With sports like these, O cloud, enjoy the mountain side.

  LXIII

for on this mountain is the city of the Yakshas.

    Then, in familiar Alaka find rest,
  Down whom the Ganges’ silken river swirls,
    Whose towers cling to her mountain lover’s breast,
  While clouds adorn her face like glossy curls
  And streams of rain like strings of close-inwoven pearls.

LATTER CLOUD

  I

  The splendid heavenly city Alaka,

  Where palaces in much may rival thee—­
  Their ladies gay, thy lightning’s dazzling powers—­
  Symphonic drums, thy thunder’s melody—­
  Their bright mosaic floors, thy silver showers—­
  Thy rainbow, paintings, and thy height, cloud-licking towers.

  II

where the flowers which on earth blossom at different seasons, are all found in bloom the year round.

    Where the autumn lotus in dear fingers shines,
  And lodh-flowers’ April dust on faces rare,
    Spring amaranth with winter jasmine twines
  In women’s braids, and summer siris fair,
  The rainy madder in the parting of their hair.

  III

Here grows the magic tree which yields whatever is desired.

      Where men with maids whose charm no blemish mars
    Climb to the open crystal balcony
      Inlaid with flower-like sparkling of the stars,
    And drink the love-wine from the wishing-tree,
    And listen to the drums’ deep-thundering dignity.

  IV

    Where maidens whom the gods would gladly wed
  Are fanned by breezes cool with Ganges’ spray
    In shadows that the trees of heaven spread;
  In golden sands at hunt-the-pearl they play,
  Bury their little fists, and draw them void away.

  V

    Where lovers’ passion-trembling fingers cling
  To silken robes whose sashes flutter wide,
    The knots undone; and red-lipped women fling,
  Silly with shame, their rouge from side to side. 
  Hoping in vain the flash of jewelled lamps to hide.

  VI

    Where, brought to balconies’ palatial tops
  By ever-blowing guides, were clouds before
    Like thee who spotted paintings with their drops;
  Then, touched with guilty fear, were seen no more,
  But scattered smoke-like through the lattice’ grated door.