It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.
#Crescent moon village drawing free
This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly helpless, so that he may beg for mother's wealth of love.īaby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny crescent moon. It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise. That is why he looks so innocent.īaby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet he came like a beggar on to this earth. The one thing he wants is to learn mother's words from mother's lips. It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak. He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever bear to lose sight of her.īaby knows all manner of wise words, though few on earth can understand their meaning. It is not for nothing that he does not leave us. If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment. The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs-does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of love-the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs. The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps-does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning-the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps. The sleep that flits on baby's eyes-does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
#Crescent moon village drawing how to
They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers' hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the cocoa-nut and the dark green jack-fruit trees. He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of the evening. Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent. I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser.
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