Chapter 3 3

21① A bouquet My flowers are white as milk, sweet as honey, fermented like wine; I tie them in a bouquet with golden ribbons, but they fly away from my careful cares, and only the ribbon remains. My songs are fresh as milk, sweet as honey, intoxicating as wine; they have the same rhythm as the beating of my heart; but they, the darlings of leisure, spread their wings and fly away, and only my heart is lonely. jumping in. The fair girl I love is pure as milk, sweet as honey, charming as fine wine; her lips are like a rose that blooms in the morning, and her eyes are as dark as a bee.I held my breath lest I should disturb her; but, like my flowers and my song, she left me, only my love remained.

① This speech is written by Devendranath Sen (1855-1920).Devin Ranath Sen, a Bengali Romantic poet.The contents of his poems are mostly admiration for women, love for children and descriptions of natural scenery.Sen loves flowers into a habit, and most of his poetry collections are named after bouquets. He is the author of: "Bouquet of Worry-free Flowers", "Bouquet of Roses" and "Bouquet of Horse Cherry Blossoms". ②Bee: refers to a kind of black bee in India.The aesthetic habit of Indians thinks it is the most beautiful, and it is often used to describe the darkness of a woman's eyes and the flow of eye waves, as well as the slightly dark skin and the lightness of her body.

twenty two If in the next life I had the good fortune to be reborn as a shepherd boy in the forest of Brinda, I would be willing to suffer all the pain of losing the pride of a scholarly family. Cows are grazing in the pasture, and the shepherd boy is sitting under the big banyan tree, weaving red bean garlands leisurely. He likes to plunge into the clear and deep river of Yamana to stir up splashes. At dawn, with the hum of milk churns in the lanes, he wakes his buddies up to graze; the cows raise a cloud of dust, and the girls come out to the yard to milk the cows. The shadows grew thicker under the mangosteen trees, and the twilight on both sides of the river was dark; the milkmaids shuddered with fear as they crossed the choppy waters; a flock of peacocks danced in the forest with their dazzling tails.And the shepherd boy is gazing at the summer clouds.

The April night is as sweet as a newly bloomed flower, and the shepherd boy disappears into the forest with a peacock feather sticking out of his head. The swing rope covered with flowers is tightly tied to the branches, and the south wind trembles slightly in the sound of the flute. The happy shepherd boys come to the blue river in a group. My brother, I do not want to be the herald of a new age in Bengal, nor to light the lamps of civilization for a savage people; If only I could be reborn in the lush grove of Sanssouci, in Brinda's village where the girls churn the milk to make cheese.

①Brinda Forest: In Indian mythology, the place where the great god Hetian fell in love with the shepherd Rata in his childhood, and it is a holy place for Indian Vishnu believers. twenty three I love this gravel-covered river bank, where ducks sip and play in the silent pond, and turtles bask in the sun; when the night falls, the drifting fishing boats are moored in the tall aquatic plants. You love the green banks, the lush bamboo groves, and the girls drawing water along the winding paths. The same river flows among us and whispers the same song to its banks.I lie alone on the beach under the starlight, listening: In the early morning light, you sit alone on the bank of the river, listening, but you don’t know what the river sings to me; what it tells you will always be a mystery to me Puzzle.

twenty four You stand in front of the half-open window, with your veil lifted slightly, waiting for the salesman to sell bracelets and ankle bells.You watch lazily as the wheels of the heavy ox cart creak and roll on the dusty dirt road.On the river in the distance, where the sky and the water meet, the sail masts flutter slowly. To you, the world is like a ditty sung in a low voice by an old grandma when she spins her spinning wheel, meaningless and aimless, full of free-wheeling imagination. But, who knows, maybe at this sweltering noon, the stranger is already on the road with a basket full of strange goods?When he passed your door calling loudly, you would wake up from the vague dream, open the window, throw down the veil, and walk out of the door to meet the arrangement of fate.

25 I clasp your hands, my heart plunges into the deep pool of your black eyes; I seek you, you are silent and forever evade my pursuit. I know I have to be content with this brief love, because we just met each other on the road.Do I have the power to accompany you through this crowded world, and lead you out of this labyrinth of life?Shall I have enough to feed you through that dark journey full of death's gates? 26 If you happen to think of me, I'll sing for you.The dusk after the rain cast her shadows on the river, and slowly dragged her dim light to the west; the slanting light was no longer suitable for work or play.

You sit on the terrace facing south, I sing to you in the dark room.It was dusk, and the fragrance of wet green leaves floated in from the window, and the strong wind that foretells the approaching thunderstorm roared in the coconut grove. When it's time to light the lamp, I will leave.When you listen to the night sky, then maybe you can hear my song, though I don't sing any more. 27 On my plate is all my possessions, which I dedicate to you.I don't know what I should enshrine at your feet tomorrow?The summer of a hundred flowers competing in beauty is about to pass away. The tree lifts up the branches with withered flowers and gazes at the sky. I am like this big tree.

But all that I have given you in the past, have not the everlasting tears made a little flower never thank you? At the end of this summer, I stand in front of you with empty hands, will you remember the little flower I dedicated to you, and will you reward me with your blue eyes? 28 I dreamed that she was sitting on the head of my bed, stroking my hair gently with her slender hands, and the caress seemed to be playing beautiful music.I looked at her face, her eyes glistening with tears, and the unspeakable pain woke me up. I sat up and looked at the star river flickering outside the window, the silent star river hid the passionate flame.I don't know if she is having the same dream at this moment.

29 Through the hedge, our eyes met.I thought, I have something to say to her, and she walks away.What I want to say to her is like a flat boat bumping up and down with the tide of time day and night.The words I want to say to her are like clouds in autumn, chasing around endlessly, and like flowers blooming at dusk, looking for their lost time in the sunset.The words I want to say to her sparkle in my heart like fireflies, searching for its deep meaning in the twilight of despair. 30 Spring blooms like the searing pain of my unspoken love.The fragrance of flowers brings back memories of past poetry.Green leaves of hope burst out of my heart.My love did not come, but I felt her caress in my limbs, and heard her voice through the fragrant fields.There is her gaze in the heart of the sad sky, but where are her eyes?Her kisses are fluttering in the south wind, but where are her cherry lips?