HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.
We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.
But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again
Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng;
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain,
We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.
In The Forest
About the poet
Sarojini Naidu
Sarojini Naidu (née Chattopadhyay; 13 February 1879 – 2 March 1949) was an Indian political activist and poet. A proponent of civil rights, women's emancipation, and anti-imperialistic ideas, she was an important figure in India's struggle for independence fr…
View profile & all 7 Poems / StoriesMore from Sarojini Naidu
Palanquin Bearers
Lightly, O lightly we bear her along,She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;
Autumn Song
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,The sunset hangs on a cloud;
Indian Weavers
WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Coromandel Fishers
Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night.
An Indian Love Song
HeLift up the veils that darken the delicate moon
