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.