The Little Lady Of The Bullock Cart

Now is the time when India is gay     With wedding parties; and the radiant throngs     Seem like a scattered rainbow taking part     In human pleasures.    Dressed in bright array,     They fling upon the bride their wreaths of songs -     The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.     Here is the temple ready for the rite:     The large-eyed bullocks halt; and waiting arms     Lift down the bride.    All India's curious art     Speaks in the gems with which she is bedight.     And in the robes which hide her sweet alarms -     The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.     This is her day of days:    her splendid hour     When joy is hers, though love is all unknown.     It has not dawned upon her childish heart.     But human triumph, in a temporal power,     Has crowned her queen upon a one-day throne -     The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.     Ah, Little Lady!    What will be your fate?     So long, so long, the outward-reaching years:     So brief the joy of this elusive part;     So frail the shoulders for the loads that wait:     So bitter salt the virgin widow's tears -     O Little Lady of the Bullock cart.