Seated, seated by the window, feeling helpless,
I've been thinking only about Him.
Who's that Stranger, He Who loves in excess?
He veils my pain with sweetness.
In my idle hours when I'm lonesome,
I behold His love stained with crimson.
And also amid work is only His communion
When I contemplate His message.
He does not ignore me, even when I forget Him
Mid a twanging of viina-strings, only His.
In a hundred streams runs my existence,
A charming loquaciousness having awakened.
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Lonely will I never feel amid such a conversation.
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