Their venomed spleen
Aye vents itself; and with insulting mien
They vex my soul; and no one on my side
A word will speak. Silent, alone, unseen,
I think of my sad case; then opening wide
My eyes, as if from sleep, I beat my breast, sore-tried.
Thy disc, O sun, should ever be complete,
While thine, O changing moon, doth wax and wane.
But now our sun hath waned, weak and effete,
And moons are ever full. My heart with pain
Is firmly bound, and held in sorrow's chain,
As to the body cleaves an unwashed dress.
Silent I think of my sad case; in vain
I try to find relief from my distress.
Would I had wings to fly where ills no longer press!
~A Wife Deplores the Absence of Her Husband~
Away the startled pheasant flies,
With lazy movement of his wings.
Borne was my heart's lord from my eyes;--
What pain the separation brings!
The pheasant, though no more in view,
His cry, below, above, forth sends.
Alas! my princely lord, 'tis you--
Your absence, that my bosom rends.
At sun and moon I sit and gaze,
In converse with my troubled heart.
Far, far from me my husband stays!
When will he come to heal its smart?
Ye princely men who with him mate,
Say, mark ye not his virtuous way.
His rule is--covet nought, none hate;--
How can his steps from goodness stray?
~The Plaint of a Rejected Wife~
The east wind gently blows,
With cloudy skies and rain.
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