Kalidasa, and he had some
knowledge of astronomy and law.

But it was not only in written books that Kalidasa was deeply read.
Rarely has a man walked our earth who observed the phenomena of living
nature as accurately as he, though his accuracy was of course that of
the poet, not that of the scientist. Much is lost to us who grow up
among other animals and plants; yet we can appreciate his "bee-black
hair," his ashoka-tree that "sheds his blossoms in a rain of tears,"
his river wearing a sombre veil of mist:

Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress
To hide her charms;

his picture of the day-blooming water-lily at sunset:

The water-lily closes, but
With wonderful reluctancy;
As if it troubled her to shut
Her door of welcome to the bee.

The religion of any great poet is always a matter of interest,
especially the religion of a Hindu poet; for the Hindus have ever been
a deeply and creatively religious people. So far as we can judge,
Kalidasa moved among the jarring sects with sympathy for all,
fanaticism for none. The dedicatory prayers that introduce his dramas
are addressed to Shiva. This is hardly more than a convention, for
Shiva is the patron of literature. If one of his epics, _The Birth of
the War-god_, is distinctively Shivaistic, the other, _The Dynasty of
Raghu_, is no less Vishnuite in tendency. If the hymn to Vishnu in
_The Dynasty of Raghu_ is an expression of Vedantic monism, the hymn
to Brahma in _The Birth of the War-god_ gives equally clear expression
to the rival dualism of the Sankhya system. Nor are the Yoga doctrine
and Buddhism left without sympathetic mention. We are therefore
justified in concluding that Kalidasa was, in matters of religion,
what William James would call "healthy-minded," emphatically not a
"sick soul."

There are certain other impressions of Kalidasa's life and personality
which gradually become convictions in the mind of one who reads and
re-reads his poetry, though they are less easily susceptible of exact
proof. One feels certain that he was physically handsome, and the
handsome Hindu is a wonderfully fine type of manhood. One knows that
he possessed a fascination for women, as they in turn fascinated him.
One knows that children loved him. One becomes convinced that he never
suffered any morbid, soul-shaking experience such as besetting
religious doubt brings with it, or the pangs of despised love; that
on the contrary he moved among