Page:The Bird of Time (Naidu).djvu/67

 Only to girdle a girl's dark tresses Your fragrant hearts are uncurled: Only to garland the vernal breezes Your fragile stars are unfurled. You make no boast in your purposeless beauty To serve or profit the world.

Yet, 'tis of you thro' the moonlit ages That maidens and minstrels sing, And lay your buds on the great god's altar, O radiant blossoms that fling Your rich, voluptuous, magical perfume To ravish the winds of spring. 51