English, asked by saritajsr456, 8 months ago

Wandering Singers
Where the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
ЗА
Whar hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
Sarojini Naidu​

Answers

Answered by deepadwivedi
6

Whar hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?

answer-its is given in pic

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Answered by 19659
1

Answer:

idk

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