The Music of Hindostan c8.s3.87

c8.s3.87

In the bower of my youth a bird sings, ‘Wake, my love, wake! Open thy love-languid eyes, my love, and awake.’ There is a tremor in the midnight darkness to-night, and the air is resonant with the praise song of spring. O timorous maiden, thrilling with the mysteries of first love, listen; in my grove of paradise a bird sings in a repeated rapture, ‘Wake my love, wake!’ Wake in the first fullness of thy youth, wake in the lonely stillness of starry night, fanned by the ardent breath of spring drunk with the perfume of *bakula*. Wake in my arms my love, a-tremble with a tender shyness, decked in a wreath of blushing rose. O listen to the sweet piping in my heart, ‘Wake, my sweet love, wake.’