THE MORNING-light aches with the pain of parting. Poet, take up thy flute! Let be, if thou must depart, and go, leaving thy song to the flowers in this dew-dripping autumn. Such a morning will come again at the gold-tinted border of the East with kunda flowers in her locks. In the shady garden path, plaintive with dove's cooing, tender with the caressing enchantment of the green, will rise again the vision of this light, her steps tinkling with the anklet of thine own songs. Let be, if thou must depart.
II. 105. man mast hua tab kyon bole WHERE IS the need of words, when love has made drunken the heart? I have wrapped the diamond in my cloak; why open it again and again? When its load was light, the pan of the balance went up: now it is full, where is the need for weighing? The swan has taken its flight to the lake beyond the mountains; why should it search for the pools and ditches any more? Your Lord dwells within you: why need your outward eyes be opened? Kabir says: 'Listen, my brother! my Lord, who ravishes my eyes, has united Himself with me.'