TO THE GOD OF PAIN

by: Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949)

      NWILLING priestess in thy cruel fane,
      Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain,
      Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows,
      My tired breast girt with suffering, and my brows
      Anointed with perpetual weariness.
      Long have I borne thy service, through the stress
      Of rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights,
      Performing thine inexorable rites.
       
      For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice,
      But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice:
      All the rich honey of my youth's desire,
      And all the sweet oils from my crushed life drawn,
      And all my flower-like dreams and gem-like fire
      Of hopes up-leaping like the light of dawn.
       
      I have no more to give, all that was mine
      Is laid, a wrested tribute, at thy shrine;
      Let me depart, for my whole soul is wrung,
      And all my cheerless orisons are sung;
      Let me depart, with faint limbs let me creep
      To some dim shade and sink me down to sleep.

"To the God of Pain" is reprinted from The Golden Threshold. Sarojini Naidu. New York: John Lane Company, 1916.

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