Jun 11
He:
In the golden carnival
of morning's light,
when distant hills did
breathe a sigh of
wind,
the stray birds glided
o’er the desolate
shore,
beating their tender
wings through silent
air
and bathing in the whirl
of salt and tide.
I led my lonely voyage
o’er the sea’s bright
edge,
sailing and singing to the
hollow reed,
my flute of courage, bold
and trembling still.
And lo—afar, amid the
cherry wood,
in lands that dream, I saw
a maid appear.
She wore the golden garb
of lotus bloom,
her arms outstretched, her
limbs kissed
by the breeze,
gathering fallen leaves
into her hands.
I called to her upon the wind
of song—
but lo, she heard me not.
She wandered on,
gliding like a cloud through
morning’s hush,
and all my gaze pursued her
quiet form.
Hark, thou fair one—was
it not thee I saw,
whose rhododendron grace
did surge into the sea of
mine astonished eyes
in that bright hour of early day?
She:
The breath that moves
within the
wind of song, I know it
well—’tis thine,
sweet shepherd boy.
I tell thee: when beauty’s
gleam
does pierce the veil
of sight,
the heart must weep
within its
silken shroud, for longing’s
ache
knows no repose.
This blessed Autumn
wake,
so bright and still—
I know why thine eyes
burn
like blossoms of
surprise.
Thy heart, entangled
in the net
of beauty,
longs for what it hath
beheld but once.
Ah—my lips, they speak
as brave as flute,
and breathe as
soft
as dawn’s first trembling
light.
When paddy fields arose
with glimmering
morn,
and sky was kissed
by fire’s illumination,
I chased the
winding path
through cherry woods,
drawn by the hush
that roots itself
within the soul of joy.
There in my grace,
alone yet strangely
whole,
I heard the wind
whisper thy name to
me.
I turned—and far within
the sea’s faint haze,
I saw a figure gliding
like a wave.
I knew at once it was the
one I knew.
I loosed the arrowed words
from off my lips,
but lo—
they melted in the tumult of
the sea.
Dost thou not wonder,
gentle passer-by,
who stood and held thy
gaze
with darts of her own
grace? O shepherd boy,
speak now—was it not I?
In the golden carnival
of morning's light,
when distant hills did
breathe a sigh of
wind,
the stray birds glided
o’er the desolate
shore,
beating their tender
wings through silent
air
and bathing in the whirl
of salt and tide.
I led my lonely voyage
o’er the sea’s bright
edge,
sailing and singing to the
hollow reed,
my flute of courage, bold
and trembling still.
And lo—afar, amid the
cherry wood,
in lands that dream, I saw
a maid appear.
She wore the golden garb
of lotus bloom,
her arms outstretched, her
limbs kissed
by the breeze,
gathering fallen leaves
into her hands.
I called to her upon the wind
of song—
but lo, she heard me not.
She wandered on,
gliding like a cloud through
morning’s hush,
and all my gaze pursued her
quiet form.
Hark, thou fair one—was
it not thee I saw,
whose rhododendron grace
did surge into the sea of
mine astonished eyes
in that bright hour of early day?
She:
The breath that moves
within the
wind of song, I know it
well—’tis thine,
sweet shepherd boy.
I tell thee: when beauty’s
gleam
does pierce the veil
of sight,
the heart must weep
within its
silken shroud, for longing’s
ache
knows no repose.
This blessed Autumn
wake,
so bright and still—
I know why thine eyes
burn
like blossoms of
surprise.
Thy heart, entangled
in the net
of beauty,
longs for what it hath
beheld but once.
Ah—my lips, they speak
as brave as flute,
and breathe as
soft
as dawn’s first trembling
light.
When paddy fields arose
with glimmering
morn,
and sky was kissed
by fire’s illumination,
I chased the
winding path
through cherry woods,
drawn by the hush
that roots itself
within the soul of joy.
There in my grace,
alone yet strangely
whole,
I heard the wind
whisper thy name to
me.
I turned—and far within
the sea’s faint haze,
I saw a figure gliding
like a wave.
I knew at once it was the
one I knew.
I loosed the arrowed words
from off my lips,
but lo—
they melted in the tumult of
the sea.
Dost thou not wonder,
gentle passer-by,
who stood and held thy
gaze
with darts of her own
grace? O shepherd boy,
speak now—was it not I?
It is a ballad-style paddy song, where it is traditionally sung in bewteen two genders as calls and responses. The scene is drawn in the rural pastures of village, during the time of paddy harvest. The song is very common in Limbu culture, and it is traditionally known as Ya laang or Dannach.
