The theft is really yours, for it is my song
which you have made your own--let the name be yours by all means,
but the song is mine." With this Sandip struck up in a deep,
husky voice, which threatened to be out of tune, a song in the
Bhairavi mode:
/*
"In the springtime of your kingdom, my Queen,
Meetings and partings chase each other in their endless hide
and seek,
And flowers blossom in the wake of those that droop and die in
the shade.
In the springtime of your kingdom, my Queen,
My meeting with you had its own songs,
But has not also my leave-taking any gift to offer you?
That gift is my secret hope, which I keep hidden in the shadows
of your flower garden,
That the rains of July may sweetly temper your fiery June."
*/
His boldness was immense--boldness which had no veil, but was naked
as fire. One finds no time to stop it: it is like trying
to resist a thunderbolt: the lightning flashes: it laughs at all
resistance.
I left the room. As I was passing along the verandah towards the
inner apartments, Amulya suddenly made his appearance and came
and stood before me.
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