(1262) Praner parash ganer haras
The touch of life, the joy of song,
You are my Dearest Love.
In my crept-up state of lethargy,
A song You sang, oh Peerless One.
There is no end to sweetness;
So too I find no end to song...
With dance and tones in heart's abode,
Pregnant with purpose, like ambrosia.
In winter, the caress of warmth,
In summer, luscious coolness...
Ungrudgingly upon lute-strings,
That You dispensed, Unruly One.
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He tears asunder silent apathy; He fills my life with song.
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