s behind my ear. Don't you see it?

See what? Grey hairs? Why, King, don't you worry about that.

Poet, Nature is trying to rub out the green of youth, and to
paint everything white.

No, no, King. You haven't understood the artist. On that white
ground, Nature will paint new colours.

I don't see any sign of colours yet.

They are all within. In the heart of the white dwell all the
colours of the rainbow.

Oh, Poet, do be quiet. You disturb me when you talk like that.

King, if this youth fades, let it fade. Another Queen of Youth is
coming. And she is putting a garland of pure white jasmines round
your head, in order to be your bride. The wedding festival is
being made ready, behind the scene.

Oh, dear, Poet. You will undo everything. Do go away. Ho there,
Guard. Go at once and call Sruti-bhushan.

What will you do with him, King, when he comes?

I will compose my mind, and practise my renunciation.

Ah, King, when I heard that news, I came at once. For I can be
your companion in this practice of renunciation.

You?

Yes, I, King. We Poets exist for this very purpose. We set men
free from their desires.

I don't understand you. You talk in riddles.

What? You don't understand me? And yet you have been reading my
poems all this while!--There is renunciation in our words,
renunciation in the metre, renunciation in our music. That is why
fortune always forsakes us; and we, in turn always forsake
fortune. We go about, all day long, initiating the youths in the
sacred cult of fortune-forsaking.

What does it say to us?

It says:

_"Ah, brothers, don't cling to your goods and chattels,
And sit ever in the corner of your room.
Come out, come out into the open world.
Come out into the highways of life.
Come out, ye youthful Renouncers."_

But, Poet, do you really mean to say that the highway of the open
world is the pathway of renunciation?

Why not, King? In the open world all is change, all is life, all
is movement. And he who ever moves and journeys with this
life-movement, dancing and playing on his flute as he goes, he is
the true Renouncer. He is the true disciple of the minstrel Poet.

But how then can I get peace? I must have peace.

Oh, King, we haven't the least desire for peace. We are the
Renouncers.

But ought we not to get that treasure, which is said to be
never-changing?

No, we don't covet any never-changing treasures. We are the
Renouncers.