WANDERING SINGERSSAROJINI NAIDUThe wandering singers go where the voice of the wind calls them.All men are our kindred, the world is our home.All the people are their relatives.WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings, And happy and simple and sorrowful things.They recall the past in their stories.Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed, The laughter and beauty of women long dead;Their stories evince the dead cities, the joy of beautiful women and the braveness of old kings.What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow? Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.These singers have lost their hopes and dreams. They follow the voice of the wind.
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