VILLAGE-SONG

Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going,

Where upon the champa boughs the champa buds are blowing;

To the koil-haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten,

The voices of the fairy folk are calling me: O listen!

Honey, child, honey, child, the world is full of pleasure,

Of bridal-songs and cradle-songs and sandal-scented leisure.

Your bridal robes are in the loom, silver and saffron glowing,

Your bridal cakes are on the hearth: O whither are you going?

The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow,

The laughter of the sun to-day, the wind of death to-morrow.

Far sweeter sound the forest-notes where forest-streams are falling;

O mother mine, I cannot stay, the fairy-folk are calling.