Much joy, O sun,—I give you hail!
What you seek you will surely find;
But I sit alone by the Djati-wood
Waiting for rest for my heart.
Long the sun will have set
And will sleep in the sea, when all is dark,
And still my soul
And my heart will be very sad. . . Adinda!”
And there was nobody on the road leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.
“When no longer butterflies shall flutter about,
When the stars shall no longer glitter,
When the melatti shall no longer yields its perfume,
When there shall be no longer sad hearts,
Nor wild animals in the wood,
When the sun shall go wrong
And the moon forget the east and the west,
if Adinda has not yet arrived,
Then an angel with shining wings
Will descend on earth, to look for what remained behind:
Then my corpse shall be here under the ketapan—
My soul is very sad, . . . . Adinda!”
There was nobody on the path leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.
“Then my corpse will be seen by the angel,
He will point it out with his finger to his brethren—
‘See, a dead man has been forgotten,
His rigid mouth kisses a melatti flower:
Come, let us take him up to heaven,
Him who has waited for Adinda, till he died,
Surely, he may not stay behind alone,
Whose heart had the strength to love so much,’
Then my rigid mouth shall open once more.
To call Adinda whom my heart loves,
I will kiss the melatti once more,
Which she gave me. . . . Adinda! . . . . Adinda!”
