Hot sighs of Love! And warm tears coursing down!

The Bimba-red (A kind of fruit of a rich red colour) lips of the youthful fair, The two blue eyes - two oceans of feelings;

The two hands eager to advance - love's cage -

In which the heart, like a bird, lies captive.

The martial music bursts, the trumpets blow,

The ground shakes under the warriors' tread;

The roar of cannon, the rattle of guns,

Volumes of smoke, the gruesome battlefield,

The thundering artillery vomits fire

In thousand directions; shells burst and strike

Vital parts of the body; elephants

And horses mounted are blown up in space;

The earth trembles under this infernal dance;

A million heroes mounted on steeds

Charge and capture the enemy's ordnance,

Piercing through the smoke and shower of shells

And rain of bullets; forward goes the flag,

The emblem of victory, of heroism

With the blood, yet hot, streaming down the staff,

Followed by the rifles, drunk with war-spirit;

Lo! the ensign falls, but the flag proceeds

Onwards on the shoulder of another;

Under his feet swell heaps of warriors

Perished in battle; but he falters not.

The flesh hankers for contacts of pleasure,

The senses for enchanting strains of song,

The mind hungers for peals of laughter sweet,

The heart pants to reach realms beyond sorrow;

Say, who cares exchange the soothing moonlight

For the burning rays of the noontide sun?

The wretch whose heart is like the scorching sun,

- Even he fondly loves the balmy moon;

Indeed, all thirst for joy. Breathes there the wretch