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Read Ebook: The Golden Threshold by Naidu Sarojini Symons Arthur Contributor
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Ebook has 224 lines and 12900 words, and 5 pages
VILLAGE-SONG
Honey, child, honey, child, whither are you going? Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing? Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you? Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?
Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going, Where upon the champa boughs the champa buds are blowing; To the koil-haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten, The voices of the fairy folk are calling me: O listen!
Honey, child, honey, child, the world is full of pleasure, Of bridal-songs and cradle-songs and sandal-scented leisure. Your bridal robes are in the loom, silver and saffron glowing, Your bridal cakes are on the hearth: O whither are you going?
The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow, The laughter of the sun to-day, the wind of death to-morrow. Far sweeter sound the forest-notes where forest-streams are falling; O mother mine, I cannot stay, the fairy-folk are calling.
IN PRAISE OF HENNA
A kokila called from a henna-spray: LIRA! LIREE! LIRA! LIREE! Hasten, maidens, hasten away To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. Send your pitchers afloat on the tide, Gather the leaves ere the dawn be old, Grind them in mortars of amber and gold, The fresh green leaves of the henna-tree.
A kokila called from a henna-spray: LIRA! LIREE! LIRA! LIREE! Hasten maidens, hasten away To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. The tilka's red for the brow of a bride, And betel-nut's red for lips that are sweet; But, for lily-like fingers and feet, The red, the red of the henna-tree.
HARVEST HYMN
Men's Voices
Lord of the lotus, lord of the harvest, Bright and munificent lord of the morn! Thine is the bounty that prospered our sowing, Thine is the bounty that nurtured our corn. We bring thee our songs and our garlands for tribute, The gold of our fields and the gold of our fruit; O giver of mellowing radiance, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Surya, with cymbal and flute.
Lord of the rainbow, lord of the harvest, Great and beneficent lord of the main! Thine is the mercy that cherished our furrows, Thine is the mercy that fostered our grain. We bring thee our thanks and our garlands for tribute, The wealth of our valleys, new-garnered and ripe; O sender of rain and the dewfall, we hail thee, We praise thee, Varuna, with cymbal and pipe.
Women's Voices
Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the harvest, Sweet and omnipotent mother, O Earth! Thine is the plentiful bosom that feeds us, Thine is the womb where our riches have birth. We bring thee our love and our garlands for tribute, With gifts of thy opulent giving we come; O source of our manifold gladness, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Prithvi, with cymbal and drum.
All Voices
Lord of the Universe, Lord of our being, Father eternal, ineffable Om! Thou art the Seed and the Scythe of our harvests, Thou art our Hands and our Heart and our Home. We bring thee our lives and our labours for tribute, Grant us thy succour, thy counsel, thy care. O Life of all life and all blessing, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Bramha, with cymbal and prayer.
INDIAN LOVE-SONG
She
Like 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.
CRADLE-SONG
From groves of spice, O'er fields of rice, Athwart the lotus-stream, I bring for you, Aglint with dew A little lovely dream.
Sweet, shut your eyes, The wild fire-flies Dance through the fairy neem; From the poppy-bole For you I stole A little lovely dream.
Dear eyes, good-night, In golden light The stars around you gleam; On you I press With soft caress A little lovely dream.
SUTTEE
Lamp of my life, the lips of Death Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath; Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . . Love, must I dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root; Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . . Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword Hath severed us like a broken word, Rent us in twain who are but one . . Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?
SONGS FOR MUSIC
SONG OF A DREAM
Once 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, And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
HUMAYUN TO ZOBEIDA
You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your sweetness in the nightingale, your whiteness 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.
Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace, You cry, "I SIT BEHIND THE VEIL, I CANNOT SHOW MY FACE."
Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss? Shall any fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss?
What war is this of THEE and ME? Give o'er the wanton strife, You are the heart within my heart, the life within my life.
AUTUMN SONG
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, The sunset hangs on a cloud; A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling To my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, And why should I stay behind?
ALABASTER
Like this alabaster box whose art Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart, Carven with delicate dreams and wrought With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
Therein I treasure the spice and scent Of rich and passionate memories blent Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove, Of song and sorrow and life and love.
ECSTASY
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!
Shelter my soul, O my love! My soul is bent low with the pain And the burden of love, like the grace Of a flower that is smitten with rain: O shelter my soul from thy face!
TO MY FAIRY FANCIES
Nay, 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, Fly away!
Nay, no longer ye may linger With your laughter-lighted faces, Now I am a thought-worn singer In life's high and lonely places. Fairy fancies, fly away, To bright wind-inwoven spaces, Fly away!
POEMS
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