Hill and vale once more under the poppy’s lamps are bright; in my heart the nightingale has set new songs alight.

Violet, violet, azure, azure, golden, golden mantles: Flowers, or fairies of the desert, rank on rank in sight?

On the rosy-spray dawn’s soft breeze has left a pearl of dew; now the sunbeam turns this gem a yet more glittering white.

Town or woodland, which is sweeter, if for her unveiling careless beauty love towns less than where green woods invite?

Delve into your soul and there seek our life’s buried tracks; will you not be mine? Then be not mine, be your own right!

World of soul – the world of fire and ecstasy and longing: World of sense – the world of gain that fraud and cunning blight.

Treasure of the soul once won is never lost again: Treasure gold, a shadow – wealth soon comes and soon takes flight.

In the spirit’s world I have not seen a white man’s Raj, in that world I have not seen Hindu and Muslim fight.

Shame and shame that hermit’s saying pouted on me – you forfeit body and soul alike if once you cringe to another’s might!