(152) Campaka vane madhura svapane
In sweet dream at a grove of magnolia,
Him I've seen in the magic mirror,
On gentle wind with heady fragrance,
Eyes bewitched, at bank of the river.
The flower pollen there,
Coming from the Soul Supreme,
Drifts off to a realm unseen.
There, the peacock of a mind,
Staring at the blue sky,
Fans its tail out wide.
On a night moonlit,
With lonesome vista,
Love, it dances
Around and around Him.
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There are no witnesses to the greatest romance.
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