by: Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949)
- YES ravished
with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate bosoms aflaming
- Drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens that glimmer
around them in fountains of light;
- O wild and entrancing the strain of keen music that cleaveth
the stars like a wail of desire,
- And beautiful dancers with houri-like faces bewitch the voluptuous
watches of night.
- The scents of red roses and sandalwood flutter and die in
the maze of their gem-tangled hair,
- And smiles are entwining like magical serpents the poppies
of lips that are opiate-sweet;
Their glittering garments of purple are burning like tremulous
dawns in the quivering air,
And exquisite, subtle and slow are the tinkle and tread of their
rhythmical, slumber-soft feet.
- Now silent, now singing and swaying and swinging, like blossoms
that bend to the breezes or showers,
Now wantonly winding, they flash, now they falter, and, lingering,
languish in radiant choir;
Their jewel-girt arms and warm, wavering, lily-long fingers enchant
through melodious hours,
Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate
bosoms aflaming with fire!
POEMS BY SAROJINI NAIDU
"Indian Dancers" is reprinted
from The Golden Threshold. Sarojini Naidu. New York: John
Lane Company, 1916.