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.
 


He

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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