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An Indian Love Song

By Sarojini Naidu


(Written to an Indian tune)

He

Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon of
thy glory and grace,
Withhold not, O love, from the night of my longing
the joy of thy luminous face,
Give me a spear of the scented keora guarding thy
pinioned curls,
Or a silken thread from the fringes that trouble
the dream of thy glimmering pearls;
Faint grows my soul with thy tresses' perfume and
the song of thy anklets' caprice,
Revive me, I pray, with the magical nectar that
dwells in the flower of thy kiss.

She

How shall I yield to the voice of thy pleading, how
shall I grant thy prayer,
Or give thee a rose-red silken tassel, a scented leaf
from my hair?
Or fling in the flame of thy heart's desire the veils
that cover my face,
Profane the law of my father's creed for a foe of
my father's race?
Thy kinsmen have broken our sacred altars and
slaughtered our sacred kine,
The feud of old faiths and the blood of old battles
sever thy people and mine.

He

What are the sins of my race, Beloved, what are my
people to thee?
And what are thy shrines, and kine and kindred,
what are thy gods to me?
Love recks not of feuds and bitter follies, of
stranger, comrade or kin,
Alike in his ear sound the temple bells and the cry
of the muezzin.
For Love shall cancel the ancient wrong and conquer
the ancient rage,
Redeem with his tears the memoried sorrow that
sullied a bygone age.


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