Chārudatta. Do not rebuke the storm, my friend.
Let ceaseless rain a hundred years endure,
The lightning quiver, and the thunder peal;
For what I deemed impossible is sure:
Her dear-loved arms about my neck I feel. 48
And oh, my friend,
He only knows what riches are,
Whose love comes to him from afar,
Whose arms that dearest form enfold,
While yet with rain 'tis wet and cold. 49
Vasantasenā, my belovèd,
The masonry is shaken; and so old
The awning, that 't will not much longer hold.
Heavy with water is the painted wall,
From which dissolving bits of mortar fall. 50
[He looks up.] The rainbow! See, my belovèd, see!
See how they yawn, the cloudy jaws of heaven,
As by a tongue, by forked lightning riven;
And to the sky great Indra's fiery bow
In lieu of high-uplifted arms is given. 51
Come, let us seek a shelter. [He rises and walks about.]
On palm-trees shrill,
On thickets still,
On boulders dashing,
On waters splashing,
Like a lute that, smitten, sings,
The rainy music rings. 52
