Page:The Bird of Time (Naidu).djvu/40

 I hear the bright peacock in glimmering woodlands Cry to its mate in the dawn; I hear the black koel's slow, tremulous wooing, And sweet in the gardens the calling and cooing Of passionate bulbul and dove. . . . But what is their music to me, papeeha, Songs of their laughter and love, papeeha, To me, forsaken of love?

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