Page:The Bird of Time (Naidu).djvu/53



bees that rifle the mango blossom, Set free awhile from the love-god's string, Wild birds that sway in the citron branches, Drunk with the rich, red honey of spring,

Fireflies weaving aërial dances In fragile rhythms of flickering gold, What do you know in your blithe, brief season Of dreams deferred and a heart grown old?

But the wise winds know, as they pause to slacken The speed of their subtle, omniscient flight, Divining the magic of unblown lilies, Foretelling the stars of the unborn night.

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