Sarojini
Naidu .
THE
FESTIVAL
OF SERPENTS .
CHINING
ones awake ; we seek
your chosen
temples
In
caves and sheltering
sandhills and sacred banyan
roots ;
O lift your
droning
heads
from
their
trance
of ageless
wisdom
And weave
your mystic
measures
to
the melody
of
flutes .
We bring
you milk
and maize ; wild
figs
and
golden
honey ,
And
kindle
fragrant
incense ;
to
hallow
all
the air
With
fasting
lips
we
pray ,
with
fervent
hearts
we
praise
you,
O bless our lowly offerings and hearken
to our prayer.
Guard
our helpless lives and
guide
our
patient
labours,
And cherish
our dear vision
like the jewels
in
your
crests ;
O
spread
your
hooded
watch
for
the
safety
of
our
slumbers
,
And soothe
the troubled
longings that clamour
in
our
breasts
.
Swift are
ye
as
streams
and
soundless
as
the dewfall
,
Subtle
as
the
lightning
and
splendid
as
the
sun
;
Seers
are
ye
and
symbols
of
ancient
silence
Where
life
,
and
death
,
and sorrow
,
and
ecstacy
are
one
.
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