Thou art late, O Moon...

By Cale Young Rice

Thou art late, O Moon,

Late,

I have waited thee long.

The nightingale's flown to her nest,

Sated with song.

The champak hath no odour more

To pour on the wind as he passeth o'er —

But my heart it will not rest.

Thou art late, O Love,

Late,

For the moon is a-wane.

The kusa-grass sighs with my sighs,

Burns with my pain.

The lotus leans her head on the stream —

Shall I not lean to thy breast and dream,

Dream ere the night-cool dies?

Thou art late, O Death,

Late,

For he did not come!

A pariah is my heart,

Cast from him — dumb!

I cannot cry in the jungle's deep —

Is it not time for the Tomb — and Sleep?

O Death, strike with thy dart!