9 After a Bengali Song
In the forest of my being the voice of your lute;
In the depth of my heart the pearl of your tear;
In the temple of my soul chimes the bell of your love.
The fire of dawn, shadow of eve,
Life’s sorrow, and death’s mute-enchanting peace
Steal away silently, fearfully, at thy flute’s music.
O, frail, faint call which I seek to echo!
O, breath of love laden with the aroma of my soul!
Why seek I ever without, O guest at my door?