By much austerity have I gotten Thee;
At no time will I forget, not in the least.
With thread of love You have bound; hey You are dear to everyone,
Having pleased and vibrated through melody in abundance.
In the public home of consciousness with gentle strings of veena,
By capering in the world, You are replete.
Beneath cruel Summer conflagration or a stream of Rainy Season,
In Autumn below sorrow tree's shade, in Prewinter under glacial flood,
Wounded by Winter's frost, and in Spring by crest-and-trough,
Your own particulars You go on presenting.
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In every season with hardship and a blissful song You are at my door.
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