If you call me I will come
Swifter, O my love,
Than a trembling forest deer
Or a painting dove
Swifter them a snake that flies
To the charmer’s thrall…..
If you call me I will come
Fearless what befall.

If you call me, I will come
Swifter than desire,
Swifter than the lighting’s feet
Shod with plumes of fire.
Life’s dark tides may roll between,
or Death’s deep chasm divide
If you call me I will come
Fearless what betide.

‘If you call me’ is one of the love poems ever composed by Sarojini Naidu telling of the saga of love in a romantic strain so full of singsong lyricality and intense yearning. To read the poem is to feel what it is love, how the emotions of it, how the feelings of lovers those who are in love with each other so emotionally, so passionately. How the passions of love? How the emotions and feelings? What does it pass over the heart of a lover? What is it love? How the hot breath and sensation of it? If it gives joy, it also gives pain to someone. Here only the joyous side has been touched upon not the consolation and resignation which Browning refers to it in The Last Ride Together and the heartache and the escapist flight Keats describes in Ode to a Nightingale. ‘If you call me’ as a poem is a response from the part of the beloved. If he calls her, she will definitely come just as a trembling deer comes to, just as a dove panting.

If he calls, she will come swifter than a trembling deer or a panting dove. She will come swifter than the snake dancing to the tune of the charmer’s wooden ‘been’ music. She will come no doubt without fearing what it to befall. How can it be that the lover calls her, and she will not come hearing the call? If she has loved, given her heart to then why to be afraid of? Why to fear the world and society?

If he calls her, she will come swifter than desire. She will come swifter than the lightning which but frightens it and the lover heart shudders at to think of what it to befall when it thunders and strikes with the flashing light. As one cannot say about life so is love. A certain sense of fear always lurks around or creeps in to grip in the lovers always in suspense and doubt. There is always death whose fear keeps it making man afraid of, but oblivious of that she will come to attend to his call.

Those who have not loved may not feel it the intensity of love, how the yearning of it. How do the lovers burn in? How the thirst of it? Love is a thing of the heart which but only two souls may know it. Love is perhaps the name of some burning. Love is the meeting of two hearts and souls.

‘If you call me’, the proposition, with the answer, ‘I will come’ following in succession is but a love song in which the beloved feels it the urge to respond back, burning with the love within, passion raking up and the yearning culminating as thirst. ‘If you call me’ is but a Burnsian poem just like A Red Rose. This is a poem in which one can hear the echoes of the Elizabethan songwriters and sonneteers and the romantics. It is a poem of heart, love and loving just like Strange Fits of Passion and other Lucy poems. Lost Love by Wordsworth too is one like it. Tagore’s Chandalika one act play is also similar in theme and delineation.

‘If you call me’ is but a lover’s song in which she has laid it bare her lovely heart. One who has loved can only feel it what it is, how the pull of it. Such a thing is but of Juliette and Laila. Such a thing it is of Mira and Radha. The pictures and images of a trembling deer, a panting dove and a swaying snake add to the meaning of the lyric. As the ‘been’ music keeps the snakes swaying to the tunes so the feelings of love keep it connected with. Love is a thing of the heart and the lover can feel it within.

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

–– Robert Burns in A Red, Red Rose