Sarojini Naidu

A
LA called from a henna-spray:
Lira
liree

What do you sell O ye merchants
Richly your wares are displayed
Turbans of crimson and silver,
Tunics of purple brocade,

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 ...

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

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

From groves of spice,
O'er fields of rice,
Athwart the lotus-stream,
I bring for you,

Men say the world is full of fear and hate,
And all life's ripening harvest-fields
The restless sickle of relentless fate
But I, sweet Soul, rejoice that I was born,

O little mouse, why dost thou cry While merry stars laugh in the sky
Alas
alas
my lord is dead

Cover mine eyes,
O my Love
Mine eyes that are weary of bliss As of light that is poignant and strong O silence my lips with a kiss,
My lips that are weary of song

(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

Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To captu...

Mens Voices:
RD of the lotus, lord of the harvest,
Bright and munificent lord of the morn
Thine is the bounty that prospered our sowing,