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The serpents are asleep among the poppies,
The fireflies light the soundless panther’s way
To tangled paths where shy gazelles are straying,
And parrot-plumes outshine the dying day.
O soft! the lotus-buds upon the stream
Are stirring like sweet maidens when they dream.

A caste-mark on the azure brows of Heaven,
The golden moon burns sacred, solemn, bright
The winds are dancing in the forest-temple,
And swooning at the holy feet of Night.
Hush! in the silence mystic voices sing
And make the gods their incense-offering.

Please note that ‘Laile (Nightfall in India)’ is one of Naidu’s rare recordings with no known printed counterpart. As such, the poem text remains unverified. If you are aware of a published version of this work, please do contact admin@poetryarchive.org.