When you have thrown torture and desire, O cruel child,
Into your lover's heart with lissom coquetries,
You sit down, calm and unmoved and never noticing,
And put desirous order into the loosened tangles of your hair.
And I watching you think of a placid pilgrim
That has come to camp and sits taking his ease,
With never a thought for his fellows on the road.
And I watching you think of the unconscious earth
Carelessly drinking the tears from wounded hearts.
From the Hindustani of Isch (18th C)
Rendered by Powys Mathers