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