Sarojini Naidu

(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949 / Hyderabad / India)

Sarojini Naidu Poems

1. The Gift of India 2/10/2016
2. The Royal Tombs Of Golconda 1/1/2004
3. Humayun To Zobeida (From The Urdu) 1/1/2004
4. Ode To H.H. The Nizam Of Hyderabad 1/1/2004
5. Transcience 1/3/2003
6. The Song Of Princess Zeb-Un-Nissa In Praise Of Her Own Beauty 1/1/2004
7. The Poet To Death 1/1/2004
8. The Illusion Of Love 4/7/2010
9. My Dead Dream 1/1/2004
10. The Coromandel Fishers 4/7/2010
11. Nightfall In The City Of Hyderabad 1/1/2004
12. The Indian Gipsy 1/1/2004
13. The Poet's Love-Song 1/3/2003
14. To The God Of Pain 1/1/2004
15. In Praise Of Henna 1/1/2004
16. Harvest Hymn 1/1/2004
17. Damayante To Nala In The Hour Of Exile 1/1/2004
18. To A Buddha Seated On A Lotus 1/1/2004
19. To Youth 4/7/2010
20. The Snake Charmer 4/7/2010
21. Leili 1/1/2004
22. To My Children 1/1/2004
23. Suttee 1/1/2004
24. Wandering Singers 1/1/2004
25. Corn Grinders 1/1/2004
26. The Pardah Nashin 1/1/2004
27. Indian Love Song 1/1/2004
28. Past And Future 1/1/2004
29. A Rajput Love Song 1/3/2003
30. The Soul's Prayer 4/7/2010
31. Song Of A Dream 1/1/2004
32. To My Fairy Fancies 1/1/2004
33. To India 1/1/2004
34. Alabaster 1/1/2004
35. A Love Song From The North 1/3/2003
36. Street Cries 1/1/2004
37. The Bangle Sellers 4/7/2010
38. In Salutation To The Eternal Peace 1/3/2003
39. The Queen's Rival 1/1/2004
40. In The Forest 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Sarojini Naidu

Palanquin Bearers

Lightly, O lightly we bear her along,
She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;
She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream,
She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream.
Gaily, O gaily we glide and we sing,
We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

Softly, O softly we bear her along,
She hangs like a star in the dew of our song;
She springs like a beam on the brow of the tide,
She falls like a tear from the eyes of a bride.
Lightly, O lightly we glide and we sing,
We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

Read the full of Palanquin Bearers

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.

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