"A damsel of darkness or of light,

Who are you? my beloved!"

"I am of neither. I am of twilight.

With the finished ray of the frolicksome evening Sun,

Falling upon my forehead;

With the lace border of my thin white saree

Sweeping earth's uppermost bed;

I bear my brazen pitcher,

And bring fresh water from the well

Sunk in the Temple precincts."

"It doesn't matter. Tell me, my beloved!

If it be hoary stars or glorious moon,

What time you retrace your steps from the well."

"Why do you want it?

Of what avail would it be?

Anyway the silver ring on my toe

Doth by itself tinkle

As we meet,

And water in my pitcher,

Doth of itself outsprinkle,

The moment we each other greet."