Nay, let her be! ... what comfort can we give
For joy so frail, for hope so fugitive?
The yearning pain of unfulfilled delight,
The moonless vigils of her lonely night,
For the abysmal anguish of her tears,
And flowering springs that mock her empty years?
SPRING
Young leaves grow green on the banyan twigs,
And red on the peepul tree,
The honey-birds pipe to the budding figs,
And honey-blooms call to the bee.
Poppies squander their fragile gold
In the silvery aloe-brake;
Coral and ivory lilies unfold
Their delicate lives on the lake.
Kingfishers ruffle the feathery sedge,
And all the vivid air thrills
With butterfly-wings in the wild-rose hedge,
And the luminous blue of the hills.
Sarojini Naidu.
CRADLE-SONG
From groves of spice,
O’er fields of rice,
Athwart the lotus-stream,
I bring for you,
Aglint with dew,
A little lovely dream.
Sweet, shut your eyes,
The wild fire-flies
Dance through the fairy neem;
From the poppy-hole
For you I stole
A little lovely dream.