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Best Famous Sarojini Naidu Poems


Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Sarojini Naidu poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sarojini Naidu poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sarojini Naidu poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Sarojini Naidu poems.

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by Sarojini Naidu |

To India

 O YOUNG through all thy immemorial years! 
Rise, Mother, rise, regenerate from thy gloom, 
And, like a bride high-mated with the spheres, 
Beget new glories from thine ageless womb!


The nations that in fettered darkness weep 
Crave thee to lead them where great mornings break . . . . 
Mother, O Mother, wherefore dost thou sleep? 
Arise and answer for thy children's sake! 


Thy Future calls thee with a manifold sound 
To crescent honours, splendours, victories vast; 
Waken, O slumbering Mother and be crowned, 
Who once wert empress of the sovereign Past.


by Sarojini Naidu |

In The Forest

 HERE, 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. 


We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne 
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest, 
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn; 
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west. 

But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again 
Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng; 
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain, 
We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.


by Sarojini Naidu |

Indian Weavers

 WEAVERS, weaving at break of day, 
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . . 
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild, 
We weave the robes of a new-born child.


Weavers, weaving at fall of night, 
Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . . 
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green, 
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.


Weavers, weaving solemn and still, 
What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . . 
White as a feather and white as a cloud, 
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.


by Sarojini Naidu |

LEILI

 THE serpents are asleep among the poppies, 
The fireflies light the soundless panther's way 
To tangled paths where shy gazelles are straying, 
And parrot-plumes outshine the dying day. 
O soft! the lotus-buds upon the stream 
Are stirring like sweet maidens when they dream. 


A caste-mark on the azure brows of Heaven, 
The golden moon burns sacred, solemn, bright 
The winds are dancing in the forest-temple, 
And swooning at the holy feet of Night. 
Hush! in the silence mystic voices sing 
And make the gods their incense-offering.


by Sarojini Naidu |

Life

 CHILDREN, 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 
Till some resistless hour shall rise and move 
Your hearts to wake and hunger after love, 
And thirst with passionate longing for the things 
That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings. 


Till ye have battled with great grief and fears, 
And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years, 
Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife, 
Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.


by Sarojini Naidu |

The Poet To Death

 TARRY 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. 


Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die 
With all my blossoming hopes unharvested, 
My joys ungarnered, all my songs unsung, 
And all my tears unshed. 


Tarry a while, till I am satisfied 
Of love and grief, of earth and altering sky; 
Till all my human hungers are fulfilled, 
O Death, I cannot die!


by Sarojini Naidu |

The Poets Love-Song

 In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong, 
I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind
The world to my desire, and hold the wind
A voiceless captive to my conquering song.
I need thee not, I am content with these:
Keep silence in thy soul, beyond the seas!

But in the desolate hour of midnight, when
An ectasy of starry silence sleeps 
And my soul hungers for thy voice, O then,
Love, like the magic of wild melodies,
Let thy soul answer mine across the seas.


by Sarojini Naidu |

A Love Song from the North

 Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,
Wouldst thou recall to my heart, papeeha,
Dreams of delight that are gone,
When swift to my side came the feet of my lover
With stars of the dusk and the dawn?
I see the soft wings of the clouds on the river,
And jewelled with raindrops the mango-leaves quiver,
And tender boughs flower on the plain.....
But what is their beauty to me, papeeha,
Beauty of blossom and shower, papeeha,
That brings not my lover again? 
Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,
Wouldst thou revive in my heart, papeeha
Grief for the joy that is gone?
I hear the bright peacock in glimmering woodlands
Cry to its mate in the dawn;
I hear the black koel's slow, tremulous wooing,
And sweet in the gardens the calling and cooing
Of passionate bulbul and dove....
But what is their music to me, papeeha
Songs of their laughter and love, papeeha,
To me, forsaken of love?


by Sarojini Naidu |

A Rajput Love 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! were you the keora's soul that haunts 
my silken raiment,
A bright, vermilion tassel in the girdles that I weave;

O Love! were you the scented fan 
that lies upon my pillow,
A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine,
Why should I fear the jealous dawn 
that spreads with cruel laughter,
Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?

Haste, O wild-bee hours, to the gardens of the sun set!
Fly, wild-parrot day, to the orchards of the west!
Come, O tender night, with your sweet, 
consoling darkness,
And bring me my Beloved to the shelter of my breast!

(Amar Singh in the saddle)
O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand 
that flutters,
Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride,
O Love! were you a turban-spray or 
floating heron-feather,
The radiant, swift, unconquered sword 
that swingeth at my side;

O Love! were you a shield against the 
arrows of my foemen,
An amulet of jade against the perils of the way,
How should the drum-beats of the dawn 
divide me from your bosom,
Or the union of the midnight be ended with the day?

Haste, O wild-deer hours, to the meadows of the sunset!
Fly, wild stallion day, to the pastures of the west!
Come, O tranquil night, with your soft, 
consenting darkness,
And bear me to the fragrance of my Beloved's breast!


by Sarojini Naidu |

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.