The Silken Tassel/Ode to the Kokil
Ode to the Kokil[1]
Where art thou roaming, Kokil, far and far?
O come into my little garden here,
Where every flower is moving like a star
That twinkles through the veil of midnight drear;
Thy song is wasted on the hollow skies
Which echo not, nor catch a dropping note
Of thy sweet melting heart,
And thus on dreary plains it faints and dies:
Ku-oo! and there my eyes so fondly gloat!
Come down, O Kokil, tell me where thou art!
O come into my little garden here,
Where every flower is moving like a star
That twinkles through the veil of midnight drear;
Thy song is wasted on the hollow skies
Which echo not, nor catch a dropping note
Of thy sweet melting heart,
And thus on dreary plains it faints and dies:
Ku-oo! and there my eyes so fondly gloat!
Come down, O Kokil, tell me where thou art!
When cold winds sharply swept the shivering land
And drooping sheep return’d home early eve;
While yellow leaves roll’d at some unseen wand
And gloomy clouds did mango-blossoms reave;
While birds lay closing fast within the nest
Their trembling plumes; I sat alone and sad,
For thou wert far away;
My spirit sank and shudder’d like the rest;
Ku-oo! and up I jump’d so gay and mad!
Come soon, O magic Bird, why thus delay?
And drooping sheep return’d home early eve;
While yellow leaves roll’d at some unseen wand
And gloomy clouds did mango-blossoms reave;
While birds lay closing fast within the nest
Their trembling plumes; I sat alone and sad,
For thou wert far away;
My spirit sank and shudder’d like the rest;
Ku-oo! and up I jump’d so gay and mad!
Come soon, O magic Bird, why thus delay?
O mystic herald of the joyous spring!
Thy voice is like a trumpet to the heavens
That now unfold the living blue and ring
With thy shrill note that all the earth enlivens;
The birds now skip from bough to bough and twitter;
The clouds depart like screens upon the stage,
And leave their alter’d home;
The drooping leaves now move, awake and glitter;
As all, without thee, felt it was an age
Since thou hadst left for other skies, to roam.
Thy voice is like a trumpet to the heavens
That now unfold the living blue and ring
With thy shrill note that all the earth enlivens;
The birds now skip from bough to bough and twitter;
The clouds depart like screens upon the stage,
And leave their alter’d home;
The drooping leaves now move, awake and glitter;
As all, without thee, felt it was an age
Since thou hadst left for other skies, to roam.
And whither didst thou roam for all this while
And find a land of love and pure delight,
Where thou couldst so enjoy the verdurous smile
Of happy vales and leafy gardens bright;
Where softly spoke the opening buds at morn
And starry blossoms hung on moonlight-boughs
That swinging pour’d the dew
On golden earth, where hoary Capricorn
Did never show his snowy thorny brows,
Or Beauty ever those sad wrinkles knew?
And find a land of love and pure delight,
Where thou couldst so enjoy the verdurous smile
Of happy vales and leafy gardens bright;
Where softly spoke the opening buds at morn
And starry blossoms hung on moonlight-boughs
That swinging pour’d the dew
On golden earth, where hoary Capricorn
Did never show his snowy thorny brows,
Or Beauty ever those sad wrinkles knew?
Now when thy ever-rising raptures fill
The waiting world with thine own visions sweet,
And in thine echoes calling hill to hill,
Some message new, unheard, we gaily greet,
O Bird or Angel! Say, where thou hast been,
Thy fresher skies, thy soft love-scented air,
Thy mountain-heaps of flowers,
Thy greener woods and pleasure-shades between,
Thy sunny dome of light and azure rare,
And thy sweet music-haunted magic bowers!
The waiting world with thine own visions sweet,
And in thine echoes calling hill to hill,
Some message new, unheard, we gaily greet,
O Bird or Angel! Say, where thou hast been,
Thy fresher skies, thy soft love-scented air,
Thy mountain-heaps of flowers,
Thy greener woods and pleasure-shades between,
Thy sunny dome of light and azure rare,
And thy sweet music-haunted magic bowers!
What dreams are thine I know not, happy Bird!
Come down to me, that I may half conceive
Thy mellow dreams and songs unseen, unheard
On earth, where heavily our bosoms heave:
We know not how to laugh a rosy flood,
Or play to pallid cheeks our joy-string’d lyre,
To break to dimples deep:
Our smiles are bitter and our tears are blood:
We sow our precious flowers in flaming fire
And in our burning heaven we sit and weep!
Come down to me, that I may half conceive
Thy mellow dreams and songs unseen, unheard
On earth, where heavily our bosoms heave:
We know not how to laugh a rosy flood,
Or play to pallid cheeks our joy-string’d lyre,
To break to dimples deep:
Our smiles are bitter and our tears are blood:
We sow our precious flowers in flaming fire
And in our burning heaven we sit and weep!
Come down, O Kokil! speak to me Ku-oo!
And make my garden thine own springful skies,
That I may sing with thee thy love to woo;
O let me look into thy joy-lit eyes!
That Man should here a moment’s pleasure get,
Which moves and wakes his sorrow-laden heart,
Is worth his life of pain!—
Where have thy echoes fallen? speak thou yet!—
Ku-oo, ku-oo, oo-oo—and off thou art!—
Where is the Kokil now? I sing in vain!
And make my garden thine own springful skies,
That I may sing with thee thy love to woo;
O let me look into thy joy-lit eyes!
That Man should here a moment’s pleasure get,
Which moves and wakes his sorrow-laden heart,
Is worth his life of pain!—
Where have thy echoes fallen? speak thou yet!—
Ku-oo, ku-oo, oo-oo—and off thou art!—
Where is the Kokil now? I sing in vain!
- ↑ The Indian Cuckoo.