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.
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