Sarojini Naidu

“ In Salutation to the Eternal Peace
Men say the world is full of fear and hate,
And all life's ripening harvest-fields await
The restless sickle of relentless fate.
But I, sweet Soul, rejoice that I was born,
When from the climbing terraces of corn
I watch the golden orioles of Thy morn.
What care I for the world's desire and pride,
Who know the silver wings that gleam and glide,
The homing pigeons of Thine eventide? ”

“ Swift are ye as streams and soundless as the dewfall,
Subtle as the lightning and splendid as the sun;
Seers are ye and symbols of the ancient silence,
Where life and death and sorrow and ecstasy are one. ”

“ Death and Life
Death stroked my hair and whispered tenderly:
"Poor child, shall I redeem thee from thy pain,
Renew thy joy and issue thee again
Inclosed in some renascent ecstasy . . .
Some lilting bird or lotus-loving bee,
Or the diaphanous silver of the rain,
Th' alluring scent of the sirisha-plain,
The wild wind's voice, the white wave's melody?" ”

“ How shall I perfume thy fingers?
With th' soul of the keora and rose.
How shall I deck thee, O Dearest?
In hues of the peacock and dove.
How shall I woo thee, O Dearest?
With the delicate silence of love. ”

“ The bliss at the core of your magical mirth,
That quickens the pulse of the morning to wonder
And hastens the seeds of all beauty to birth,
That captures the heavens and conquers to blossom
The roots of delight in the heart of the earth? ”

“ They have spied on Love's old and changeless secret,
And the changing sorrow of human souls.
They have tarried with Death in her parleying-places,
And issued the word of her high decree,
Their wings have winnowed the garnered sunlight,
Their lips have tasted the purple sea. ”

“ Dawn will not veil her splendour for your grief,
Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty
To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.
Nay, do not pine, tho' life be dark with trouble,
Time will not pause or tarry on his way ”

“ Restored you to us in your flowering time
For a brief season to delight and bless
Our hearts with delicate splendour and perfume,
Till Death usurped your vivid loveliness
In wanton envy of its radiant bloom? ”

“ And teachest the young of the koel to fly!
Thou who art mighty to succour and cherish,
Who savest from sorrow and shieldest from pain,
Withhold not Thy merciful love, or we perish,
Hearken, O Lord of Rain! ”

“ E'en to annul one throe of destined pain,
Or by one heart-beat to prolong thy breath;
O Love, alas, that love could not assuage
The burden of thy human heritage,
Or save thee from the swift decrees of Death. ”

“ A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine,
Why should I fear the jealous dawn that spreads with cruel laughter,
Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?
Haste, O wild-bee hours to the gardens of the sunset! ”

“ O brilliant blossoms that strew my way,
You are only woodland flowers they say.
But, I sometimes think that perchance you are
Fragments of some new-fallen star;
Or golden lamps for a fairy shrine,
Or golden pitchers for fairy wine. ”

“ Sleep, O my little ones, sleep,
Yours is the golden To-morrow,
Yours are the hands that will reap
Dreams that we sow while you sleep,
Fed with our hope and our sorrow,
Rich with the tears that we weep. ”

“ O heart, when the rapturous season is o'er us
Of blossom and leaf?
Their joy from the birds and the streams let us borrow,
O heart! let us sing,
The years are before us for weeping and sorrow . . . ”

“ Lone is the way and long,
Why, O why was I tempted to tarry
Lured by the boatmen's song?
Swiftly the shadows of night are falling,
Hear, O hear, is the white crane calling,
Is it the wild owl's cry?
There are no tender moonbeams to light me,
If in the darkness a serpent should bite me,
Or if an evil spirit should smite me,
Rām re Rām! I shall die. ”

“ And her withered, brave voice croons its paean of praise,
Be the gay world kind or unkind:
"La ilaha illa-l-Allah,
La ilaha illa-l-Allah,
Muhammad-ar-Rasul-Allah."
In hope of your succour, how often in vain,
So patient she sits at my gates,
In the face of the sun and the wind and the rain,
Holding converse with poverty, hunger and pain,
And the ultimate sleep that awaits. . . .
In her youth she hath comforted lover and son,
In her weary old age, O dear God, is there none
To bless her tired eyelids to rest? . . . ”

“ The Bird of Time⁠
O Bird of Time on your fruitful bough
What are the songs you sing? . . .
Songs of the glory and gladness of life,
Of poignant sorrow and passionate strife,
And the lilting joy of the spring;
Of hope that sows for the years unborn,
And faith that dreams of a tarrying morn,
The fragrant peace of the twilight's breath,
And the mystic silence that men call death.
O Bird of Time, say where did you learn
The changing measures you sing? . . .
In blowing forests and breaking tides,
In the happy laughter of new-made brides,
And the nests of the new-born spring;
In the dawn that thrills to a mother's prayer, ”

“ Let us lie 'neath the palms where perchance we may listen, and reach
A delicate dream from the lips of the slumbering sedges,
That catch from the stars some high tone of their mystical speech.
Or perchance, we may glean a far glimpse of the Infinite Bosom
In whose glorious shadow all life is unfolded or furled. ”

“ O faery queen of a flowering clime,
Where life glides by to a delicate measure,
With the glamour and grace of a far-off time.
Fain would I dwell where your wild doves wander,
Your palm-woods burgeon and sea-winds sing. . . . ”

“ For her who has journeyed thro' life midway,
Whose hands have cherished, whose love has blest
And cradled fair sons on her faithful breast,
Who serves her household in fruitful pride,
And worships the gods at her husband's side. ”

“ And spent and pardoned, sue to learn
The simple secret of My peace.
"I, bending from my sevenfold height
Will teach thee of My quickening grace,
Life is a prism of My light,
And Death the shadow of My face." ”

“ While I live, it will always be the supreme desire of my Soul to write poetry—one poem, one line of enduring verse even. Perhaps I shall die without realising that longing which is at once an exquisite joy and an unspeakable anguish to me. ”

“ An Anthem of Love
Two hands are we to serve thee, O our Mother,
To strive and succour, cherish and unite;
Two feet are we to cleave the waning darkness,
And gain the pathways of the dawning light. ”

“ And what are thy shrine, and kine and kindred, what are thy gods to me?
Love recks not of feuds and bitter follies, of stranger, comrade or kin,
Alike in his ear sound the temple bells and the cry of the muezzin. ”

“ Moreover, I entreated Sarojini to write no more about robins and skylarks, in a landscape of our Midland counties, with the village bells somewhere in the distance calling the parishioners to church, but to describe the flowers, the fruits, the trees, to set her poems firmly among the mountains, the gardens, the temples, to introduce to us the vivid populations of her own voluptuous and unfamiliar province; in other words, to be a genuine Indian poet of the Deccan, not a clever machine-made imitator of the English classics. ”

“ I folded my hands at the altars to pray
"O shining Ones guard us by night and by day"—
And loudly the conch shells were blowing.
But my heart was so lost in your worship, Beloved,
They were wroth when I cried without knowing:
Govinda! Govinda!
Govinda! Govinda! . . .
How brightly the river was flowing!
Mathura is the chief centre of the mystic worship of Khrishna, the Divine Cowherd and Musician—the "Divine Beloved" of every Hindu heart. He is also called Govinda. ”

“ But what is their music to me, papeeha,
Songs of their laughter and love, papeeha,
To me, forsaken of love?
The papeeha is a bird that comes in Northern India when the mangoes are ripe, and calls "Pi-kahan, Pi-kahan?"—Where is my love? ”

“ And faith in a heart at rest.
Fireflies dance in the moon-light,
Peach-leaves dance in the wind;
Dreams and delicate fancies
Dance thro' a poet's mind.
Sweetness dwells in the beehive,
And lives in a maiden's breath ”

“ The living heart that was love's paradise!
•⁠•⁠•⁠•⁠•Quick with the sense of joys she hath foregone,
Returned my soul to beckoning joys that wait,
Laughter of children and the lyric dawn,
And love's delight, profound and passionate,
Winged dreams that blow their golden clarion,
And hope that conquers immemorial hate. ”

“ For me, O my Master,
The rapture of Truth!
To priests and to prophets
The joy of their creeds,
To kings and their cohorts
The glory of deeds;
And peace to the vanquished
And hope to the strong. . . . ”

“ Only to girdle a girl's dark tresses
Your fragrant hearts are uncurled:
Only to garland the vernal breezes
Your fragile stars are unfurled.
You make no boast in your purposeless beauty
To serve or profit the world. ”

“ The honey-birds pipe to the budding figs,
And honey-blooms call the bee.
Poppies squander their fragile gold
In the silvery aloe-brake,
Coral and ivory lilies unfold
Their delicate lives on the lake. ”

“ The dancers sway and shine,
Swift in a rhythmic circle,
Soft in a rhythmic line;
Their lithe limbs gleam like amber
Thro' their veils of golden gauze,
As they glide and bend and beckon,
As they wheel and wind and pause. ”

“ Slumber Song for Sunalini
In a Bengalee metre
Where the golden, glowing
Champak-buds are blowing,
By the swiftly-flowing streams,
Now, when day is dying,
There are fairies flying
Scattering a cloud of dreams. ”

“ The limpid clouds of the lustrous dawn
That colour the ocean's mien?
Or the blood that poured from a thousand breasts
To succour a Rajput queen? [1]
What can rival the radiant pride
Of your frail, victorious fire? ”

“ Kneading the saffron cakes,
They gathered honey from the hives
For the Festival of Snakes. . . .
Why should I wake the jewelled lords
With offerings or vows,
Who wear the glory of your love
Like a jewel on my brows? ”

“ Of battling tempests and unconquered seas?
Yea, you may smite my mouth to throbbing silence,
Pluck from my lips power of articulate words . . .
Say, shall my heart lack its familiar language
While earth has nests for her mellifluous birds? ”

“ What do you weigh, O ye vendors?
Saffron and lentil and rice.
What do you grind, O ye maidens?
Sandalwood, henna, and spice.
What do you call, O ye pedlars?
Chessmen and ivory dice.
What do you make, O ye goldsmiths? ”

“ The Vasant Panchami is the spring festival when Hindu girls and married women carry gifts of lighted lamps and new-grown corn as offerings to the goddess of the spring and set them afloat on the face of the waters. Hindu widows cannot take part in any festive ceremonials. ”

“ Shatter her shining bracelets, break the string
Threading the mystic marriage-beads that cling
Loth to desert a sobbing throat so sweet,
Unbind the golden anklets on her feet,
Divest her of her azure veils and cloud
Her living beauty in a living shroud.
•⁠•⁠•⁠•⁠•Nay, let her be! . . . what comfort can we give
For joy so frail, for hope so fugitive? ”

“ She springs from the very soil of India; her spirit, although it employs the English language as its vehicle, has no other tie with the West. It addresses itself to the exposition of emotions which are tropical and primitive, and in this respect, as I believe, if the poems of Sarojini Naidu be carefully and delicately studied they will be found as luminous in lighting up the dark places of the East as any contribution of savant or historian. ”