VILLAGE SONG by Sarojini Naidu

Full are my pitchers and far to carry,

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,

Ram Re Ram! I shall die.

My brother will murmur, ‘Why doth she linger?’

My mother will wait and weep,

Saying, ‘O safe may the great gods bring her,

The Jamuna’s waters are deep…’

The Jamuna’s waters rush by so quickly,

The shadows of evening gather so thickly,

Like black birds in the sky…

O! if the storm breaks, what will betide me?

Safe from the lightning where shall I hide me?

Unless Thou succor my footsteps and guide me,

Ram Re Ram! I shall die.

TO MY FAIRY FANCIES by Sarojini Naidu

Nay, no longer I may hold you,

In my spirit’s soft caresses,

Nor like lotus-leaves enfold you

In the tangles of my tresses.

Fairy fancies, fly away

To the white cloud-wildernesses,

Fly away!

Nay, no longer ye may linger

With your laughter-lighted faces,

Now I am a thought-worn singer

In life’s high and lonely places.

Fairy fancies, fly away,

To bright wind-in woven spaces,

Fly away!

THE SOUL’S PRAYER by Sarojini Naidu

In childhood’s pride I said to Thee:

‘O Thou, who mad’st me of Thy breath,

Speak, Master, and reveal to me

Thine inmost laws of life and death.

Give me to drink each joy and pain

Which Thine eternal hand can mete,

For my insatiate soul would drain

Earth’s utmost bitter, utmost sweet.

‘Spare me no bliss, no pang of strife,

Withhold no gift or grief I crave,

The intricate lore of love and life

And mystic knowledge of the grave.’

Lord, Thou didst answer stern and low;

‘Child, I will hearken to thy prayer,

And thy unconquered soul shall know

All passionate rapture and despair.

‘Thou shalt drink deep of joy and fame,

And love shall be in thee like a fire,

And pain shall cleanse thee like a flame,

To purge the dross from thy desire.

‘So shall thy chastened sprit yearn

To seek from its blind prayer release,

And spent and pardoned, sure 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.’

THE QUEEN’S RIVAL by Sarojini Naidu

Queen Gulnaar sat on her ivory bed,

Around her countless treasures were spread;

Her chamber walls were richly inlaid

With agate, porphyry, onyx and jade;

The tissues that veiled her delicate breast

Glowed with the hues of a lapwing’s crest;

But still she gazed in her mirror and sighed

‘O King, my heart is unsatisfied.’

King Feroz bent from his ebony seat:

‘Is thy least desire unfulfilled, O Sweet?

‘Let thy mouth speak and my life be spent

To clear the sky of thy discontent’

‘I tire of my beauty, I tire of this

Empty splendor and shadow less bliss;

‘With none to envy and none gainsay,

No savour or salt hath my dream or day.’

Queen Gulnaar sighed like amurmuring rose;

‘Give me a rival, O King Feroz.’

II

King Feroz spoke to his Chief Vizier;

‘Lo! Ere to-morrow’s dawn be here,

‘Send forth my messengers over the sea,

‘To seek seven beautiful brides for me;

‘Radiant of feature and regal of mien,

Seven handmaids meet for the Persian Queen.’

*             *             *             *             *

Seven new moon tides at the Vesper call,

King Feroz led to Queen Gulnaar’s hall

A young queen eyed like the morning star:

‘I bring thee a rival, O Queen Gulnaar.’

But still she gazed in her mirror and sighed:

‘O King, my heart is unsatisfied.’

Seven queens shone round her ivory bed,

Like seven soft gems on a silken thread,

Like seven fair lamps in a royal tower,

Like seven bright petals of Beauty’s flower.

Queen Gulnaar sighed like a murmuring rose

‘Where is my rival, O King Feroz?’

III

When spring winds wakened the mountain floods,

And kindled the flame of the tulip buds,

When bees grew loud and the days grew long,

And the peach groves thrilled to the oriole’s song

Queen Gulnaar sat on her ivory bed,

Decking with jewels her exquisite head;

And still she gazed in her mirror and sighed

‘O King, my heart is unsatisfied.’

Queen Gulnaar’s daughter two spring times old,

In blue robes bordered with tassels of gold,

Ran to her knee like a wildwood fay,

And plucked from her hand the mirror away.

Quickly she set on her own light curls

Her mother’s fillet with fringes of pearls;

Quickly she turned with a child’s caprice

And pressed on the mirror a swift, glad kiss.

Queen Gulnaar laughed like a tremulous rose:

‘Here is my rival, O King Feroz.’