Then she knew that he had come the night before--carelessly fallen
asleep!--and wrote back:
_How can you write the thought?_
_The door of precious wood was closely shut,_
_No way to read that heart._
All is thy suspicion--O that I could lay bare my heart
[to you]!
The next night he wanted to come again, yet he was advised against it.
He feared the criticism of the Chamberlain and Crown Prince, so his
visits became more and more infrequent. In the continuous rains the
lady gazed at the clouds and thought how the court would be talking
about them. She had had many friends; now there was only the Prince.
Though people invented various tales about her, she thought the truth
could never be known to any. The Prince wrote a letter about the
tedious rain:
_You are thinking only of the long rains_
_Forever falling everywhere._
_Into my heart also the rain falls--_
_Long melancholy days._
It was smile-giving to see that he seized upon every occasion to write
her a poem, and she also felt as he did that this was a time for
sentiment.
The reply:
_Unaware of the sadness in your heart,_
_Knowing only of the rain in mine._
And on another paper she wrote another poem:
_It passes, the very sorrowful life of the world--_
_By to-day's long_ { _rains_
{ _meditation it can be known_
_The_ { _high-water mark_
{ _flood will be exceeded._
Is it still long? [before you come].
The Prince read this letter and the messenger came back with his answer:
_Helpless man,_
_I am weary even of life._
_Not to you alone beneath the sky_
_Is rain and dulness._
For us both it is a stupid world.
It was the sixth day of the Fifth month--rain not yet stopped. The
Prince had been much more touched by her answer of the day before,
which was deeper in feeling, and on that morning of heavy rain he sent
with much kindness to inquire after her.
_Very terrible was the sound of rain ..._
_Of what was I thinking_
_All the long night through_
_Listening to the rain against the window?_