INDIAN LOVE-SONG by Sarojini Naidu

 SHE

        LIKE 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.

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