If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let me
ever feel that I have missed thy sight--let me not forget for a
moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in
my wakeful hours.

As my days pass in the crowded market of this world and my hands
grow full with the daily profits, let me ever feel that I have
gained nothing--let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the
pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting, when I spread my
bed low in the dust, let me ever feel that the long journey is
still before me--let me not forget a moment, let me carry the
pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound and the
laughter there is loud, let me ever feel that I have not invited
thee to my house--let me not forget for a moment, let me carry
the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.


I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the
sky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my
vapour, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and
years separated from thee.

If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take this
fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with
gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied