In The Bazaars of Hyderabad
What do you sell O ye merchants ?
Richly your wares are displayed.
Turbans of crimson and silver,
Tunics of purple brocade,
Mirrors with panels of amber,
Daggers with handles of jade.
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?
Wristlet and anklet and ring,
Bells for the feet of blue
Frail as a dragon-fly’s wing,
Girdles of gold for dancers,
Scabbards of gold for the king.
What do you cry,
O ye fruitmen?
Citron, pomegranate, and plum.
What do you play ,
O musicians?
Cithar, sarangi and do you chant,
O magicians?
Spells for aeons to come.
What do you weave,
O ye
With tassels of azure and red?
Crowns for the brow of a bridegroom,
Chaplets to garland his bed.
Sheets of white blossoms
To perfume the sleep of the dead.
Sarojini Naidu
Другие работы автора
The Poets Love Song
IN noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong, I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind The world to my desire, and hold the wind A voiceless captive to my conquering song I need thee not,
To India
O NG through all thy immemorial years Rise, Mother, rise, regenerate from thy gloom,
Damayante To Nala In The Hour Of Exile
LT thou be conquered of a human fate My liege, my lover, whose imperial head Hath never bent in sorrow of defeat Shalt thou be vanquished, whose imperial feet Have shattered armies and stamped empires dead Who shall unking thee, husband ...
My Dead Dream
VE OU found me, at last, O my Dream Seven eons ago You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow
