My scattered dust charged with Love the shape of heart may take at last: O God, the grief that bowed me then, may press me down as in the past!

The Maids of Eden by their charm may arouse my urge for song: The flame of Love that burns in me, may fire the zeal of Celestial Throng!

The pilgrim’s mind can dwell at times on spots and stages left behind: My heed for spots and places crossed, from the Quest may turn my mind!

By the mighty force of Love I am turned to Boundless Deep: I fear that my self-regard, me, for aye, on shore may keep!

My hectic search for aim and end, in life that smell and hue doth lack, may get renown like lover’s tale, who riding went on litter’s track!

The rise of clay-born man hath smit the hosts of heaven with utter fright: They dread that this fallen star to moon may wax with fuller light.