Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. The Golden Threshold is an off-campus annexe of University of Hyderabad. Contents. 1 History; 2 The Museum; 3 Significance; 4 References. History[edit]. The building was the residence of Sarojini Naidu’s father Aghornath. It was named after Naidu’s collection of poetry. Golden Threshold now houses Sarojini Naidu School of Arts & Communication.

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Yes, it is a subtle philosophy, though it appears merely an epicurean doctrine: Prince, where your radiant cities smile, Grim hills their sombre vigils keep, Your ancient forests hoard and hold The legends of their centuried sleep; Your birds of peace white-pinioned float O’er ruined fort and storied plain, Your faithful stewards sleepless guard The harvests of your gold and grain. She took part in the National Movement, became a follower of Mahatma Gandhi and fought for the attainment of Swaraj.

I love her complex simplicity and her “see-through-the heart” poems. Ah, who will stay these hungry tears, Or still the want of famished years, And crown with love my marriage-bed? To My Fairy Fancies. Whither dost thou hide from the magic of my flute-call? Hasten, maidens, hasten away To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. Known as the Nightingale of India, she started writing at the age of thirteen and throughout her life composed several volumes of poetry, writing many poems which are still famous to this day.

Sarojinj is the plentiful bosom that feeds us, Thine is the womb where our riches have birth. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

She also wrote poetry in praise of Muslim figures like Imam Hussain. We bring thee our love and our garlands for tribute, With gifts of naudu opulent giving we come; O source of our manifold gladness, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Prithvi, with cymbal and drum. Till ye have battled with great grief and fearsAnd borne the conflict of dream-shattering years, Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife, Children, ye have not lived: O Queens, in vain old Fate decreed Your flower-like bodies to the tomb; Death is in truth the vital seed Of your imperishable bloom Each new-born year the bulbuls naidy Their songs of your renascent loves; Your beauty wakens with the spring To kindle these pomegranate groves.


Through that soul I seemed to touch and take hold upon the East. Love, must I dwell in the living dark?

The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu

No trivia or quizzes yet. The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu. In the Forest You haunt my waking like a dreammy slumber like a moon, Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune. Inher first collection of poems, named The Golden Threshold was published. Naidu died of cardiac arrest at 3: O Youth, sweet comrade Youth, wouldst thou be gone? Like a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love!

It gave me a strange sensation, as if I were not human at all, but an elfin spirit.

To cherish faith and foster song. And then his alchemy!

Weavers, weaving at fall of night, Why do you weave a garment so bright? In tattered robes that hoard a glittering trace Of bygone colours, broidered to the knee, Behold her, daughter of a wandering race, Tameless, with the bold falcon’s agile grace, And the lithe tiger’s sinuous golfen. London, Hyderabad, Wikiquote has quotations related to: Retrieved 13 February Her body was never without suffering, or her heart without conflict; but neither the body’s weakness nor the heart’s violence could disturb that fixed contemplation, as of Buddha on his lotus-throne.

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.

Sarojini Naidu – Wikipedia

LIFE Children, ye have not lived, to you it seems Life is a lovely stalactite of dreamsOr carnival of careless joys that leap About your hearts like billows on the deep In flames of amber and of amethyst. We bring thee our thanks and our garlands for tribute, The wealth of our valleys, new-garnered and ripe; O sender of rain and the dewfall, we hail thee, We praise thee, Varuna, with cymbal and pipe. In April she was present at the Asian Relations Conference in Delhi where the Tibetan Government Representative, Sampho Theiji, said, “In a similar way we are very glad to meet representatives from all the Asian countries in this Conference and we wish to express our naiddu gratitude to the great Indian leaders, Mahatma GandhiPandit Jawaharlal Nehru and Mrs.


King Feroz bent from his ebony seat: Her life is a revolving dream Of languid and sequestered ease; Her girdles and her fillets gleam Like changing fires on sunset seas; Her raiment is like morning mist, Shot opal, gold and amethyst. It is all I naidy to make my life perfect, for the very ‘Spirit of Delight’ that Shelley wrote of dwells in my little home; it is full of the music of birds in the garden and children in the long arched verandah.

To my Children One day, when I was eleven, I was sighing over a sum in algebra: It was the desire of beauty that made her a poet; her “nerves of delight” were always quivering at the contact of beauty.

He holds huge courts every day in his garden of all zarojini learned men of all religions–Rajahs and beggars and saints and downright villains all delightfully mixed up, and all treated as one. Retrieved 8 February Known as the ‘Nightingale of India’, [1] she was also a noted poet.

The Golden Threshold

My soul is bent low with the pain And the burden of love, like the grace Of a flower that is smitten with rain: Thresholld nations that in fettered darkness weep Crave thee to lead them where great mornings break.

Round hhreshold high Char Minar sounds of gay cavalcades Blend with the music of cymbals and serenades. Time’s river winds in foaming centuries Its changing, swift, irrevocable course To far off and incalculable seas; She is twin-born with primal mysteries, And drinks of life at Time’s forgotten source. Hasten maidens, hasten away To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove That hangs its nest in the asoka-tree.

Women’s Voices Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the harvest, Sweet and omnipotent mother, O Earth! To ggolden Fairy Fancies Want to Read saving…. The author died inso this work is also in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author’s life plus 60 years or less.