Singing songs He'd departed;
In a heady dream with charming visage,
Had He taken the mind captive?
For His sake how many ages am I keen;
I've forgot so many moments, days, and years.
Just that piece in throat did not escape my memory
Mixed with tune in music mode, what did He give?
In ear the sound of His footsteps I still hear;
To forget ten thousand thunderbolts could not be.
In the depths of psyche, with a sweet resonance,
Echoing is it with emission of ambrosia.
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I still hear Him in the songs He did sing.
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