Sarojini Naidu’s speaker confronts an old dream that she thought she had buried long ago, “seven aeons” before, under forests of snow. Now it has somehow found her again, and she reacts not with joy but with protective alarm. The dream feels like a ghost: it threatens to tear down the green garlands she has hung, frighten the white pigeons of joy from her eaves, and spoil the music of love with its dim moaning. She has built a life of peace, ritual, and tenderness, and the returning hope or grief threatens that. Her questions are really accusations. The final lines turn to a firm command: go back to the darkness; do not profane the shrines I have raised in my heart. The mood is haunting and resolute—sadness from the past is treated as something dangerous to current happiness, and the speaker chooses to send it away.
My Dead Dream — Summary
Have you found me, at last, O my Dream? Seven aeons ago You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow. Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep?
Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands of leaves? Would you scare the white, nested, wild pigeons of joy from my eaves? Would you touch and defile with dead fingers the robes of my priest? Would you weave your dim moan with the chantings of love at my feast?
Go back to your grave, O my Dream, under forests of snow, Where a heart-riven child hid you once, seven aeons ago. Who bade you arise from your darkness? I bid you depart! Profane not the shrines I have raised in the clefts of my heart.