WANDERING SINGERS HERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet, Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed, What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
by Sarojini Naidu
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
No comment for "Wandering Singers by Sarojini Naidu"
Post a Comment