ONG OF FRESH BEAUTY

_We waited by the wayside counting moments till you appeared in the
April morning.
You come as a soldier-boy winning life at death's gate,--
Oh, the wonder of it.
We listen amazed at the music of your young voice.
Your mantle is blown in the wind like the fragrance of the Spring.
The white spray of_ malati _flowers in your hair shines like
star-clusters.
A fire burns through the veil of your smile,--
Oh, the wonder of it.
And who knows where your arrows are hidden which smite death?_

(_Night_)

[_The rear stage is darkened, and the light on the main stage
dimmed to the heavy purple blackness of mourning._]

(_Enter the Band of Youths._)

Chandra has gone away again, leaving us behind.

It is difficult to keep him still.

We get our rest by sitting down, but he gets his by walking on.

He has gone across the river with the blind minstrel, in whose
depth of blindness Chandra is seeking the invisible light.

That is why our Leader calls him the Diver.

Our life becomes utterly empty, when Chandra is away.

Do you feel as though something was in the air?

The sky seems to be looking into our face, like a friend bidding
farewell.

This little stream of water is trickling through the _casuarina_
grove. It seems like the tears of midnight.

We have never gazed upon the earth before with such intentness.

When we run forward at full speed, our eyes keep gazing in front
of us, and we see nothing on either side of us.

If things did not move on and vanish, we should see no beauty
anywhere.

If youth had only the heat of movement, it would get parched and
withered. But there is ever the hidden tear, which keeps it
fresh.

The cry of the world is not only "I have," but also "I give." In
the first dawning light of creation, "I have" was wedded to "I
give." If this bond of union were to snap, then everything would
go to ruin.

I don't know where that blind Minstrel has landed us at last.

It seems as though these stars in the sky above us are the
gazing of countless eyes we met in all forgotten ages. It seems
as if, through the flowers, there came the whisper of those we
have forgotten, saying Remember us.

Our hearts will break if we do not sing.

(_They sing._)

_Did you leave behind you your love, my heart, and miss peace through
all your days?
And is the path you followed lost and forgotten, ma