INDIAN LOVE-SONG

by: Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949)

SHE

      IKE a serpent to the calling voice of flutes,
      Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love!
      Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above
      His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers;
      And on ripe boughs of many-coloured fruits
      Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.
       

HE

      Like the perfume in the petals of a rose,
      Hides thy heart within my bosom, O my love!
      Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove
      That hangs its nest in the asoka-tree.
      Lie still, O love, until the morning sows
      Her tents of gold on fields of ivory.

"Indian Love-Song" is reprinted from The Golden Threshold. Sarojini Naidu. New York: John Lane Company, 1916.

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