Of what is made Thy heart?
When stars and moon are mute in tranceMy bosom pines for Thee.
My love for Thee smashes my pride
Of dumb eternity.
I hear at times Thy golden flute,
But beyond my reach Thou art.
My sacrifice in vain will end.
Of what is made Thy Heart?
Sri Chinmoy, My First Friendship with the Muse, Agni Press, New York, 1973
