Caprice
You held a wild flower in your finger -tips,
Idly you pressed it to indifferent lips,
Idly you tore its crimson leaves apart...
Alas! It was my heart You held wine-cup in your finger-tips,
Lightly you raised it to indifferent lips,
Lightly you drank and flung away the bowl…,
Alas! It was my soul. Page 153

Her poem in Gokak, Vinayak Krishna (1970). The Golden Treasury of Indo-Anglian Poetry, 1828-1965. Sahitya Akademi. ISBN 978-81-260-1196-4.