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?
Similar Posts
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?He went to seek a millet-grainIn the rich farmer’s granary shed;They caught him in a baited snare,And slew my lover unaware:Alas! alas! my lord is dead.O little deer, why dost thou moan,Hid in thy forest-bower alone?Alas! alas! my lord is dead!Ah! who will quiet…
HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
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 borneThe heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;We…
The Gift of India
‘Is there ought you need that my hands withhold,Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?Lo ! I have flung to the East and the WestPriceless treasures torn from my breast,And yielded the sons of my stricken wombTo the drum-beats of the duty, the sabers of doom…..’
Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull’s call,The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are…
O YOUTH, sweet comrade Youth, wouldst thou be gone?
Together drunk of many an alien dawn,And plucked the fruit of many an alien sky.Ah, fickle friend, must I, who yesterdayDreamed forwards to long, undimmed ecstasy,Henceforward dream, because thou wilt not stay,Backward to transient pleasure and to thee?I give thee back thy false, ephemeral vow;But, O beloved comrade, ere we part,Upon my mournful eyelids and…
She
Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love!Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans aboveHis jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers;And on ripe boughs of many-coloured fruitsBright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.HeLike 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 doveThat hangs…