O, sigh and shake your blue
apparel!
Yeats
--May we two stand,
When we are dead, beyond the setting suns,
A little from the other shades apart,
With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.
VIJAYA [_entering and throwing a lily at her_]
Hail! hail, my Anashuya.
ANASHUYA.
No: be still.
I, priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.
VIJAYA.
I will wait here, Amrita.
ANASHUYA.
By mighty Brahma's ever rustling robe,
Who is Amrita? Sorrow of all sorrows!
Another fills your mind.
VIJAYA.
My mother's name.
ANASHUYA [_sings, coming out of the temple_]
_A sad, sad thought went by me slowly:
Sigh, O you little stars!
O, sigh and shake your blue apparel!
The sad, sad thought has gone from me now wholly:
Sing, O you little stars! O sing, and raise your rapturous carol
To mighty Brahma, who has made you many as the sands,
And laid you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands. _
[_Sits down on the steps of the temple_]
Vijaya, I have brought my evening rice;
The sun has laid his chin on the gray wood,
Weary, with all his poppies gathered round him.
VIJAYA.
The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter,
Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows,
Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs.
ANASHUYA.
See how the sacred old flamingoes come,
Painting with shadow all the marble steps:
Aged and wise, they seek their wonted perches
Within the temple, devious walking, made
To wander by their melancholy minds.
Yon tall one eyes my supper; swiftly chase him
Far, far away. I named him after you.
He is a famous fisher; hour by hour
He ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams.
Ah! there he snaps my rice. I told you so.
Now cuff him off. He's off!
When we are dead, beyond the setting suns,
A little from the other shades apart,
With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.
VIJAYA [_entering and throwing a lily at her_]
Hail! hail, my Anashuya.
ANASHUYA.
No: be still.
I, priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.
VIJAYA.
I will wait here, Amrita.
ANASHUYA.
By mighty Brahma's ever rustling robe,
Who is Amrita? Sorrow of all sorrows!
Another fills your mind.
VIJAYA.
My mother's name.
ANASHUYA [_sings, coming out of the temple_]
_A sad, sad thought went by me slowly:
Sigh, O you little stars!
O, sigh and shake your blue apparel!
The sad, sad thought has gone from me now wholly:
Sing, O you little stars! O sing, and raise your rapturous carol
To mighty Brahma, who has made you many as the sands,
And laid you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands. _
[_Sits down on the steps of the temple_]
Vijaya, I have brought my evening rice;
The sun has laid his chin on the gray wood,
Weary, with all his poppies gathered round him.
VIJAYA.
The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter,
Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows,
Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs.
ANASHUYA.
See how the sacred old flamingoes come,
Painting with shadow all the marble steps:
Aged and wise, they seek their wonted perches
Within the temple, devious walking, made
To wander by their melancholy minds.
Yon tall one eyes my supper; swiftly chase him
Far, far away. I named him after you.
He is a famous fisher; hour by hour
He ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams.
Ah! there he snaps my rice. I told you so.
Now cuff him off. He's off!
