Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
Sarojini Naidu
Other author posts
Street Cries
EN dawn's first cymbals beat upon the sky, Rousing the world to labour's various cry, To tend the flock, to bind the mellowing grain, From ardent toil to forge a little gain,
Ode To HH The Nizam Of Hyderabad
Deign, Prince, my tribute to receive, This lyric offering to your name, Who round your jewelled scepter bind The lilies of a poet's fame;
Suttee
MP of my life, the lips of Death Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath; Naught shall revive thy vanished spark
The Poet To Death
RY a while, O Death, I cannot die While yet my sweet life burgeons with its spring; Fair is my youth, and rich the echoing boughs Where dhadikulas sing
