Sarojini Naidu

Sarojini Naidu

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Sarojini Chattopadhyay Naidu (13 February 1879 – 2 March 1949) was an Indian political activist and poet. A proponent of civil rights, women's emancipation, and anti-imperialistic ideas, she was an important figure in India's struggle for independence from colonial rule. Naidu's work as a poet earned her the sobriquet 'Nightingale of India' by Mahatma Gandhi.
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EE how the speckled sky burns like a pigeon's throat,
Jewelled with embers of opal and peridote
See the white river that flashes and scintillates,
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates
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Jaya
EN sun of victory, born In my life's unclouded morn,
In my lambent sky of love,
May your growing glory prove Sacred to your consecration,
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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
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EN, ye have not lived, to you it seems Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams,
Or carnival of careless joys that leap About your hearts like billows on the deep In flames of amber and of amethyst
Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist ...
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You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn,
Your sweetness in the nightingale, your white- ness in the swan
You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon,
Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune
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From groves of spice,
O'er fields of rice,
Athwart the lotus-stream,
I bring for you,
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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 insati...
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RE,
O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire
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O little mouse, why dost thou cry While merry stars laugh in the sky
Alas
alas
my lord is dead
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What do you sell O ye merchants
Richly your wares are displayed
Turbans of crimson and silver,
Tunics of purple brocade,
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AY, 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,
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(Parvati at her lattice)O Love
were you a basil-wreath to twine among my tresses,
A jewelled clasp of shining gold to bind around my sleeve,
O Love
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RD
HA, on thy Lotus-throne,
With praying eyes and hands elate,
What mystic rapture dost thou own,
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CE in the dream of a night I stood Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
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Beloved, you may be as all men
Only a transient
Of flickering flame set in loam of clay – I care not …since you kindle all my
With the immortal lustres of the day
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I
SE among these silent fanes Whose spacious darkness guards your dust;
Around me sleep the hoary plains That hold your ancient wars in trust
I pause, my dreaming spirit hears,
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