O there, the eternal self;
the one fold of the many folds,
do me once more
to crave thy image
where the mountain blooms, and
an ocean
wash thy feet
O the eternal, there!
Dissipate melancholy
by thy wisdom four
And succor my strength
rising great
the dead men alive
These of silvery nights, pant
To rasp
my feeble breath.
What mastery
this tiny life holds
But to incarcerate
by thy eternal wish
O there, the divine 'self'!
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