(1304) Din cale jay balaka pakhay
A flock of geese on wing, the days, they go by;
Woe is me, still in my home You did not arrive.
Many crimson dreams of novelty have got broken;
On many tears my breast, it has floated off.
Nonetheless, Your hallowed footfall goes unheard.
Humming, the mind's bumblebee is saying:
"The One you crave, for you He is coming;
Lo, yon He goes, yon He goes, He is
Rapt in spring-fire on the palash tree."
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Is that Him I behold in spring's floral splendor?
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