Who is Toru Dutt

Toru Dutt (Bengali: তরু দত্ত) (4 March 1856 – 30 August 1877) was a Bengali translator and poet from the Indian subcontinent, who wrote in English and French, in what was then British India. She is seen as one of the founding figures of Anglo-Indian literature, alongside Henry Louis Vivian Derozio (1809–31), Manmohan Ghose (1869–1924), and Sarojini Naidu (1879–1949). Dutt is known for her volumes of poetry in English, A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields (1876) and Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan (1882), and for her novel in French, Le Journal de Mademoiselle d’Arvers (1879). Her poetry is characterized by sensitive descriptions and lyricism. Her poems revolve around themes of loneliness, longing, patriotism and nostalgia. Dutt died young, at age 21, ...
Read Full Biography

Toru Dutt Poems

  • Near Hastings
    Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach,
    We loitered at the time
    When ripens on the wall the peach,
    The autumn's lovely prime. ...
  • Savitri. Part Ii
    Great joy in Madra. Blow the shell
    The marriage over to declare!
    And now to forest-shades where dwell
    The hermits, wend the wedded pair. ...
  • The Legend Of Dhruva
    Vishnu Purana. Book I. Chapter XI.

    Sprung from great Brahma, Manu had two sons, ...
  • Savitri. Part Iii
    Death in his palace holds his court,
    His messengers move to and fro,
    Each of his mission makes report,
    And takes the royal orders,--Lo, ...
  • The Tree Of Life
    Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!
    Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,
    My hand was in my father's, and I felt
    His presence near me. Thus we often past ...
Read All Poems

Top 10 most used topics by Toru Dutt

Head 9 Long 9 Hear 9 Earth 9 Wild 9 Live 8 Clear 8 Face 8 King 8 Sweet 7

Toru Dutt Quotes

Read All Quotes

Comments about Toru Dutt

Read All Comments

Write your comment about Toru Dutt

Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Melville And Coghill - The Place Of The Little Hand
 by Andrew Lang

DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.


Read complete poem

Popular Poets