The Silken Tassel

Front matter

THE SILKEN TASSEL

THE SILKEN TASSEL

BY

To One Who Knows

If Thou knowest, then I know; If not Thou, then who on earth? Light has seen my outer glow, Dark has felt my inner dearth.

And if Thou knowest, what more aught Be brought to Thee by words that swarm? For words are shadows of the thought, That simply show a shapeless form.

The veils dividing Thee and me, Like clouds, are lifted by Thy grace; Take me in Love’s eternity. And hold me in Thy firm embrace!

Human love is love and grief: Love the plant and grief the flower; In Thy heart I find relief. Where Love and Joy grow in one bower.

Far, above, beyond, across, I hold Thee ever in my thought Thou art my gain in worldly loss, Thou art my One in earthly nought.

For Thee alone my art did own The pleasures of my darkest days; What if this die unread, unknown? ’Tis crown’d with Thy love-lighted rays.

Then if Thou knowest, well I wait My drop to mingle in Thy Sea: In Springs of Light,—or soon or late, We will be one of Thee and Me!

Introduction

I am told that Mr. Khabardar is a popular poet in his mother-tongue, Gujerati, and I can well believe it on the assumption that a poet’s wealth of ideas and metrical power is capable of spending itself through more than one language. In Mr. Khabardar’s case it obviously should be so. He has lived and listened so closely to Keats and Francis Thompson and other masters of lyrical English, and he has made their speech and method so fully his own—in these English poems of his—that it is only on the rarest occasion that a close reader comes on an accent which discloses the foreign lip. If his technical mastery is so strong in a foreign language, his expression in his mother-tongue must indeed be as excellent as I am told it is. This gives one the feeling that, however fluently and sweetly he may sing in English of the joy of human love and Divine vision, one is still, in his English poems, only on the threshold of his genius. My introduction of Mr. Khabardar is, therefore, somewhat complicated. I cannot introduce him as an Indian poet, for he is not here singing in an Indian language, and if he was, I should unfortunately be none the wiser. I cannot introduce him as an English poet, because he is not one. But I can introduce him—as himself; as one who sings in this book melodiously and with fulness of that level of human life which is the common experience of all humanity, and (which is his special excellence) of that higher level of spiritual realisation which is familiar to Indian experience, and which may the sooner find utterance in English poetry by being voiced in the orient in songs such as these.

JAMES H. COUSINS

The Silken Tassel

While in the early glimmerings of Spring My little feet were dancing with the flowers, I found a purse tied with a silken string Hanging out from the hands of honeyed hours.

The treasure that it bore was not of earth, And yet it had the stamp of human face; I hid it in my heart: I knew its worth: One coin could buy all beauty’s garner’d grace.

Since then I’ve walk’d the rainbow-paths of Life, Amidst the orchards of the earth and sky; This purse has help’d to win the time-old strife, And link’d the distant heaven and earth more nigh.

And now, I spread the carpet of my soul Before thy feet, and place this nazar poor— The Silken Tassel of my purse unroll And scatter its contents upon the floor!

Little Fancies

SONGS OF THE MUSE

Little Fancies come and go, Like the little shades; Little Fancies come and go, Like the charming maids; Come and go, go and come, Like the peeping star; Little Fancies come and hum In our ears, and secrets some <> Stealthily unbar.

Little Fancies, where ye live?— In the wildernesses Of the skies, where rainbows weave In the maiden’s tresses Golden rays of love and light; In the fleecy clouds, Whereon shine the colours bright, And their sunlit fleeting might >> Charms the wondering crowds.

Little Fancies, where ye wander?— In the greenest caves Of the lively minds that ponder O’er the foaming waves; Boundless floods and shoreless seas, And the roofless skies; With the wings of honey-bees, And the ever-roaming breeze >> That swells and sings and sighs.

Little Fancies, where ye sleep?— In the rose’s bed, In its petals soft we keep Charms so rosy red; In the light and glassy bubbles Floating in the air, Far away from cares and troubles, Dreaming dreams of love that doubles <> Joys and longings rare!

The Spirit of Poetry

I gather’d my rhymes from the songs of the stars, I gather’d my words from the whispering winds, I gather’d my dreams from the colours of eve, And I gather’d my thoughts from the high-streaming minds; I awaited the gleam of thy magical ray, But, Spirit of Poetry! thou wert away!

I stood once in joy ’neath a rainbow’s arch, And I pass’d thro’ its golden drops of delight; My heart was so full with the throbs of thy love, And my eyes were aglow with thy ever-new light; I planted that rainbow here ever to be, When, Spirit of Poetry! thou wert with me!

Then the plumes of the morn were the dreams that I dreamt, And the music of rain was the voice thro’ me rang; The glow of the growing moon was my desire, And the twinkling stars were the songs that I sang: The world was my wingèd steed gaily to rove, When, Spirit of Poetry! thou wert my love!

Can Joy be the shadow of Love ever here, Can Beauty be wingless here ever to stay? Can Hope with her laurels crown ever the good, Or the Season of Life ever flower in May?— The world is a vision: and what thou too showest?— Stay, Spirit of Poetry! stay, where thou goest?

Ode to Poesy

My eyes are glistening with celestial light: My heart is throbbing with pulsations warm, Like ocean-waves that leap before a storm: My frame is stirring at the wizard might Of new unveilèd Beauty: I do hear The dewy footsteps now approaching near As of some happy Power, O’ershadowing my soul in mystery: I feel that thou hast come, fair Poesy! And woven a vision on my brow this hour, Like sudden moonlight on a midnight sea!

Come, lovely Goddess! from thy heavenly home, Where thou art ever weaving thy sweet spell Around the heads that dream with thee to dwell Beside a sea of joy, upon whose foam Thy rainbow locks are streaming; where thy breath Doth ever blow to heal the stings of Death That fears thy magic name: Where reigns thy beauty all the gods among For ever smiling and for ever sung: Where Wisdom, Virtue, Truth, Love, Hope and Fame Are but the flowers to thy tresses strung.

Let dry Philosophy sow Hows and Whys And reap a harvest of the grainless chaff; Let Science hold her ever-changing staff And labour all her life with doubtful eyes To cut and link the Truth that e’er exists; Their mind is smoky like the shadow’d mists That flow and melt away; Thine is the kingdom of a brighter world, Where Truth has all her beauty’s veils unfurl’d, Where Love is Truth and Law that never stray, And rules the heart of Man by thy voice thirl’d.

Come, gentle Spirit! take my heart in thine: Come, I have known thee and have loved thee long: Yes, I have known and felt thy presence strong Within my mind that drinks thy dimpling wine, Dissolving in thy dawn its moonlight dreams; Oh, I remember when thy golden beams Within my boyish heart Plough’d furrows deep thy deathless love to sow; More than in love, thence, in their meteor-glow, I’ve toil’d to reap the secret of thine Art That waters here my youthful Hope to grow.

And whither shalt thou carry me beyond This thorny earth that quakes beneath her sins: Far where the mellow Moonlight sings and spins Her silken threads to catch the meteors fond; Or in the golden halls of Morn that brings Proud Sunrise flying on his mighty wings; Or in the windless calm Of flowery Eve, that kisses soft to sleep Each lotus in its watery home, where deep It dreams within the shade of bordering palm, Through which the pilot-star of eve doth peep?

For many a day and night I’ve worshipp’d thee And ever shall remain thy bondman true; With thee I’ve sail’d through all the living blue And loved to lie awhile among the free And ever-blossoming clouds, the stars, the moon, And other aery beings: till I, too, soon Have felt myself a star, A moon, a cloud, free-breathing in the air Of liquid sweetness in thy shadowing care, Leaving the world behind me far—too far— To slip away into thy regions rare.

Thy regions rare!—Ah, yes, that land divine! Where, by the twilight lake embroider’d thick With lotus-stars o’er fan-leaves twinkling quick, ’Mid lawny hills and flowery woods that shine In vernal splendour, on a golden plain Fed with soft sunlight and the dewy rain, I sit in joy untold, And sip and sip and sip the nectar dear From thy rich cup of light and love sincere, O’erbrimming with thy smiles that e’er unfold A brighter life beyond this raging sphere!

And there, within thy universe sublime, I sit and sing my soul for one short hour, And lose myself within the silver shower Of glowing visions swimming in that clime, And dream the sweetest dream man ever dreams: But O! the cup falls from my hand, and streams The nectar on the ground!— I rise and seek and search for thee in vain: No lake, no hills, no woods, no golden plain; This is my chair, and this my world around!— Why leave me, Poesy? Come, come again!

Ode to the Kokil

SONGS OF NATURE

Where art thou roaming, Kokil, far and far? O come into my little garden here, Where every flower is moving like a star That twinkles through the veil of midnight drear; Thy song is wasted on the hollow skies Which echo not, nor catch a dropping note Of thy sweet melting heart, And thus on dreary plains it faints and dies: Ku-oo! and there my eyes so fondly gloat! Come down, O Kokil, tell me where thou art!

When cold winds sharply swept the shivering land And drooping sheep return’d home early eve; While yellow leaves roll’d at some unseen wand And gloomy clouds did mango-blossoms reave; While birds lay closing fast within the nest Their trembling plumes; I sat alone and sad, For thou wert far away; My spirit sank and shudder’d like the rest; Ku-oo! and up I jump’d so gay and mad! Come soon, O magic Bird, why thus delay?

O mystic herald of the joyous spring! Thy voice is like a trumpet to the heavens That now unfold the living blue and ring With thy shrill note that all the earth enlivens; The birds now skip from bough to bough and twitter; The clouds depart like screens upon the stage, And leave their alter’d home; The drooping leaves now move, awake and glitter; As all, without thee, felt it was an age Since thou hadst left for other skies, to roam.

And whither didst thou roam for all this while And find a land of love and pure delight, Where thou couldst so enjoy the verdurous smile Of happy vales and leafy gardens bright; Where softly spoke the opening buds at morn And starry blossoms hung on moonlight-boughs That swinging pour’d the dew On golden earth, where hoary Capricorn Did never show his snowy thorny brows, Or Beauty ever those sad wrinkles knew?

Now when thy ever-rising raptures fill The waiting world with thine own visions sweet, And in thine echoes calling hill to hill, Some message new, unheard, we gaily greet, O Bird or Angel! Say, where thou hast been, Thy fresher skies, thy soft love-scented air, Thy mountain-heaps of flowers, Thy greener woods and pleasure-shades between, Thy sunny dome of light and azure rare, And thy sweet music-haunted magic bowers!

What dreams are thine I know not, happy Bird! Come down to me, that I may half conceive Thy mellow dreams and songs unseen, unheard On earth, where heavily our bosoms heave: We know not how to laugh a rosy flood, Or play to pallid cheeks our joy-string’d lyre, To break to dimples deep: Our smiles are bitter and our tears are blood: We sow our precious flowers in flaming fire And in our burning heaven we sit and weep!

Come down, O Kokil! speak to me Ku-oo! And make my garden thine own springful skies, That I may sing with thee thy love to woo; O let me look into thy joy-lit eyes! That Man should here a moment’s pleasure get, Which moves and wakes his sorrow-laden heart, Is worth his life of pain!— Where have thy echoes fallen? speak thou yet!— Ku-oo, ku-oo, oo-oo—and off thou art!— Where is the Kokil now? I sing in vain!

To the Mena

Silver-throated Mena mine! All the honeyed songs are thine: When young Morn comes silver-smiling, Pearls on pearls with magic piling, And with softest footsteps showers Sweetest scents upon the flowers, While her breath fresh, balmy, tender, Opens all the lotus’ splendour; When bright Noon her golden arrows Flings upon the Earth, and sparrows Twitter, twitter in their nest Soothing their young ones to rest For a while from blazing skies And with stronger wings to rise; When soft Eve and Sun together Many a green and crimson feather Set within her dusky hair, And she looks so wondrous fair, That the leaping ocean-billows Pluck some for her night-bed pillows,

Where meek Eve and Sun repose, Dreaming all night, calm and close: Then I hear thy homely songs, Simple, free from worldly wrongs: Like the innocent joys of Morn That with dew the flowers adorn, Like the warmth of golden Noon That holds Day in a gentle swoon, Like the sweet repose of Eve That a thousand dreams doth weave, Is thy soft love-melting voice, Which doth in its soul rejoice.

Simple-hearted Mena mine! All the homely songs are thine; Let that shining Surya sing Songs of many a noble thing, Of his majestic golden glory, His sublime heroic story, Of his high and tuneful thunders, And his quick-inspiring wonders; Let that strange goat-footed Pan Pipe as charming as he can, To the forests and the highlands, To the thickly-wooded islands, To the winds and flocks and birds, He, at whose swift-flowing words

Fauns and Nymphs from woods and waves Come out from their hidden caves, Silent and all charm’d with magic By his pipings sweetly tragic; Let Gandharvasin high heaven Raise their music to enliven Gods and spirits with their song, Who around them run and throng And derive a secret pleasure To delight in Love’s free measure! Let the Kokil’s piercing note Sing of golden climes remote, Leafy gardens, heaping flowers, Living skies and shady bowers, Beauties of the Land of Dreams, And delights of springful streams; Let the Bulbul sing and weep His love for the Rose, and keep All the night awake and sorry Shaping his love-drooping story, To the moon and stars complaining Of his love’s unjust disdaining: Thine are songs of homely feeling Right unto the heart appealing; Thine are songs of simple pleasure That unveil a hidden treasure Of the sweetest homely joys;

Thine are songs for girls and boys, Children, full of deep delights, Strangers to all sins and spites, In whose heaven-reflected eyes We can read our destinies!

O sweet Mena! sing thy songs, Simple, free from worldly wrongs; Sing me of thy woody pleasure Where thou skipp’st with joyful measure On the fields with green corn waving With a tune so soft and craving, There forgetting altogether Gloomy clouds and rainy weather; Or within thy date-tree sitting Quiet, close, thy wings unflitting, Thou dost tune thy velvet throat, When the eyes of farmers gloat O’er the spot whence rains thy song, And their boys soon run and throng, Leaving in their fields their ploughs To find thee in the date-tree boughs; But thou fliest from that spot, Like a dear uncagèd thought, Leaving them amazed behind thee, Baffled in their hope to find thee, And thou seek’st another tree To renew thy melody.

Give us, Bird! thy guileless heart, Simple-natured as thou art; Thou dost never dream of wrongs, Sweetly simple are thy songs. We are yearning for a note That eludes our strainèd throat; We forget what it could be Greatness in simplicity; Or our spirit never slumbers At thy simple heartful numbers! We are diving in the deep, But with empty hands we weep; We are plunging in the skies, But they blaze and blind our eyes. Thou art living in the Present, Ever-cheerful, ever-pleasant; Thine are skies of light and shadow, Thine the green-gold field and meadow, Thorny trees and soft-leaved bowers, Common grass and fragrant flowers, Silver clouds and golden corn, And an ever-smiling morn, Tender heart and simple glee: May we, Mena! follow thee!

Lalita

Lalita sleeps beside a lake within her garden green, The snow-white hansas are as still upon the waters seen: O soft her slumber glides along the eyes that now are closed, As soft and sweet the evening breeze blows on the day reposed.

The bunyan, palm and mango trees, o’erarch’d above her sleep, Repel the frisky sunbeams that thro’ them persisting peep: And soft the shadows slip upon her breast that gently heaves, And Light and Shade play hide-and-seek upon the glossy leaves.

Like rose-buds are her eye-lids closed so tender and so light, That through their half-transparent doors her dreams are fluttering bright: And softly stir her limbs while in her dreams some fancy dips, As moves the lotus when the bhramar fond its nectar sips.

Lalita sleeps as fair and sweet upon the grassy green, As on the sunset green the rosy smile of eve is seen: Her head is on a heap of flowers that her rich breath inhale, Her rosy-velvet feet impress the rose on poppies pale.

Her peacock-painted saree doth her perfect form adorn, Through which her arms and feet shoot out like golden bars of morn: Her magic-streaming choli her soft bloom of youth enfolds, And her young overflowing love there carefully withholds.

Her radiant face doth tempt the heavens to make another moon, Ah! Nature not to Mother Earth gave such another boon: Her virgin light around her shines like the halo of the sun, Which sheds her power and glory more than any saint has won.

Oh! she is made of flowers and light, innocent, sweet and pure: The lotus, lily, jasmine, gul-chhadi and rose allure The souls of men to this their home of a million flowers’ perfume, And a million stars were emptied for her spirit to illume!

Sweet is the Moon half-setting on the sea that partly shines, And sweet is Shukra resting on a cloud with silvery lines, Sweet is the Spring that sleeps within her green-gay woody seat, But sweeter is to see a maiden sleeping lonely-sweet!

O soft her sleep is like the magic of a charmer’s lute, O soft! her soul is swimming in the happy dreams of youth; O soft! upon her rainbow-brows a world of glory gleams: Ah! who would not desire to smile within her virgin dreams!

Lines to the Crescent Moon

Where hast thou been, Oh Crescent Moon! My baby Crescent Moon! I waited for thee late and soon, My baby Crescent Moon! While evening came and shadows fell Across the land and main, I look’d for thee in frowning skies, And look’d for thee in vain.

Well have I caught thee now within My silver net of stars; Oh Crescent Moon! thy light serene My prison’d joy unbars; Though thou wert far and long unseen In deeper darkening skies, I heard thee beating in my heart, I saw thee in my eyes!

To see thy smiles of blossoming light, My baby Crescent Moon! I long for ever in my night, My baby Crescent Moon! Fill up thy golden cup of love, And pour thy light divine! I see a hundred heavens conceal’d Within that heart of thine!

Messages

SONGS OF THE HEART

Heart to heart can tell its secrets, mind to mind can speak in silence, Unheard thrillings travel o’er a million leagues of lands and seas; All the world is full of voices floating on the air for ever, And all space is charged with dumb innumerable messages; Ears can hear and heart can feel the speaking silence in all places, This wide dome is not a hollow, nor is dead this blowing breeze.

Let Marconi’s aerial agent record through the air and water Messages in its machines of a hundred various wheels and keys; And the human brains find out an airy thread to link in triumph All the rolling spheres and know their secret-working energies: Heart to heart yet tells its secret, mind to mind yet speaks in silence, Man can hear and know without them, aye, and even more than these!

The Song of Love

Where the golden founts flow in ceaseless streams And scatter their drops of stars; Where the white dawn weaves her infinite dreams And the silver gates unbars; Where the vermeil tents drop slumbering shades And the balmy breezes blow; Where the blossoming light of the new moon fades In the heart of eternal glow; There I flutter about in the greenest glades And sing to the world below.

When the halls of Space were hollow and dark, And all was a soulless gloom; When the cycles waited in awe for a spark To raise the world from its doom; When the wings of Time were folded over Its eyes and ears long dead; And the sleeping Truth there sigh’d to recover Once more its long-slipp’d thread: I piped my flute; and lo! they discover A world wherever I tread!

I piped, and there all my sweetest words Flew to shine the stars of Night, And the Sun and the Moon, like the golden birds, Pour’d over the earth my delight: I piped, and Heaven there blossom’d in bliss And flower’d in joys divine, And Time rose out from its own abyss, Like the Phoenix, to fly to my shrine; I piped, and Truth came running to kiss My feet and again be mine!

I come to the earth with the youthful Spring And charm her hopeful bower; I wave with the clouds which play to my string And I dance with the Summer shower: I drop and whirl with the Autumn leaves And blow with the west wind wild, I slide with the Winter snow that cleaves To the earth which has long beguiled: I come with the day and the night that weaves A thousand dreams like a child.

I fly over Fancy’s rich domain, For ever so fresh and green; I sing in the Kokil’s springful strain From the leaf-young trees, unseen; I laugh in the thunder’s rolling sound, I glance in the lightning’s blaze, I roll in the whirlwinds round and round, I hide in the smoky haze; Or I slip away for a while unfound, And suddenly come and amaze!

I smile in the rainbow’s rings of gems, I peep from the pearly dew: I shine in the stones and the diadems, I gloom in the sullen yew; I moan in the ever-crying cascade, I hum with the murmuring bees, I breathe through the songs of birds that braid All the softest melodies; Oh! I ring in the hearts of man and maid And swell them like summer seas!

They say I am blind and I cannot see: Fools!—I have a million eyes; I find my way, through whatever may be, I see through mountains and skies! Wherever I go, I blow my spell, And all is fair and bright; They fall headlong in the fires of Hell Who hate me in despite: I lead to Heaven the souls that dwell Within my God-fill’d light.

When this visible world will shake from its depth, And the spheres will crumble and crash: When the souls will breathe their last-left breath And all will swoon in the clash: Then all will come to my magical call And lie in my boundless heart, For mine are the worlds, all great and small, And mine is the unscann’d art: Oh! I am the root and the end of all, And I am the whole and the part!

He is Coming

He is coming, he is coming, He is coming down to me, While the bees are gently humming And the prison’d springs are free: He is coming, he is coming, With the Kokil and his song, With the breath of breezes roaming, Knowing I am waiting long.

He is coming with the thunder, With the rainbow-sword beside, And the clouds are rent asunder While there wakes the sleeping tide. He is coming, he is coming, With the lightning on the sea, With the waters’ milky foaming, He is coming down to me.

He is coming with the flowers Of the morning and the eve, He is bringing all the hours For my sweetest dreams to live; He is coming, he is coming, Every moment mine to be; And my heart is ever humming, He is coming unto me.

Love’s Dream

Let Love but once in the skies of the spring Shed his undiluted tears, For soon the autumn with light and shade Will crop in doubts and fears; Let the summer blow, and his smiles will bring To him golden flowers of joy; Ere the red bloom withers and green leaves fade, Let none Love's dream destroy!

Love lives in a land of lily and rose, And his dreams are budding flowers; Where Life is honey and Hope is heaven, And Tears are sunlight-showers; His vision of joy like the rainbow glows, And his thoughts like the moonlit stream: Oh where is the heaven so richly given, But to Love's glimmering Dream?

Thy Smiles

Thy smiles are like the sharpest blades That cut the hardest steel, Thy smiles are like the softest shades That deepest waters seal: Thy smiles are like the rosy flowers Bestrewn upon the snow; They hold thy sweet and secret powers, O Maiden! thou dost know.

One smile—and I forget my thoughts That I could hardly gather; One smile—I love its gentle plots Like sunshine in cold weather: One smile—and all my heart leaps up To tangle in its meshes; O Maiden! hide thy magic cup That blinds all in its flashes!

No Summer Morn can ever match The smile upon thy face, No Winter Moon can ever catch The glory of its grace; No rosy Eve can imitate Its light like laughing flowers, No other Beauty can create Its rainbow-wingèd showers.

I seem to fall within thy smiles, A meteor in thy light! Forbear thy heaven-inwoven wiles Of lips and eyes so bright! They cut my heart or crush my mind— All seems without them vain; No other Heaven on earth I find: Smile, Maiden! smile again!

I Weep, O Love!

I weep, O Love! Love sings in joy; Yet I do weep: O pardon me! Would I be like a baby's toy, A lifeless thing to pet and coy, Nor feel, nor hear, nor see!

I weep, O Love! my world art thou; Yet I do weep: O pardon me! I feel my heart a desert now; But when it holds thy image, how Can my heart lonely be?

I weep, O Love! I find no glitter In this bright Sun: O pardon me! I cannot hear the birds that twitter; Nay, why this life of mine is bitter If sweet love smile in glee?

I weep, O Love! I cannot keep This flood that foams: O pardon me! My love has had its roots as deep And sweet as life; how can I weep O Love! though I love thee?

I weep, O Love! Ah, wilt thou hear, Love loves not Death, but pardon me! I wish’d that now sweet Death were near!— But how to me can Death be dear When near and dear thou be?

Love’s Struggle

O Love! you tell me Weep-No-More, That you I should forget: Ah! had you known my heart before, You could not say thus yet!

That Weep-No-More makes me to weep My whole life evermore: And every tear digs the more deep Your memory sweet and sure.

I cannot live without you, dear! And yet I cannot die! I love to live for your sake here, And live to love and cry!

Parting

The raining Noon now sounds our parting hour, While from thy love-embosom’d bower My stony Fate now wrenches me away Far to that evening dim and grey, Far, far from thee, O dearest! where my heart Will still imagine that thou art Beside me, ever making my sad night Bright with thy happy memory’s light, Although my heart is now but made its tomb Which veils my joy within its gloom.

Forget thee?—Nay, my dear! that cannot be: The ever-palpitating Sea Lives in his ebb and flow, and though he seem Calm for a while, like a fresh dream, He stretches out his waving hands once more And rushes forth to kiss the shore; The circling Moon may seem to wane in light And disappear from mortal sight, But she is ever singing round the Earth And fills her cup of love with mirth,

Farewell, sweet Love, if part we must at last! But all the Starlight of the Past Will ever blaze within my night of loss And silently my heart will cross, Reviving all our dreams of sweetest hours, Till all its quiet-glowing showers Will melt into the twilight of our hope, And those bright gates at last will ope To let the greater sunlight in! O Sweet! Then warm and close at last we meet!