KE 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.
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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