The Ta Keu

He rolls along in carriage grand,
His robes are bright with green,—
His robes of rank, as on the bank
The tender sedge is seen.
Thinking I always am of thee,
Thinking with fond desire ;
But dreading his severity,
I must repress the fire.

With slow and heavy sound his car,—
His car of state, moves on.
O’er his dress spread, the colours red
Shine like carnation-stone.
Thinking I always am of thee ;
The fondest thoughts have I.
The fear of him alone holds me,
Or to thine arms I’d fly.

Our fate may be, while still alive,
Always apart to dwell ;
But when we’re dead, we shall be laid
In the same earthen cell.
If haply thou should’st say that I
Am not in this sincere,
I swear its truth by that day’s eye,
Whose piercing glance I fear.