Gitanjali 100

I dive down into the depth of the ocean

of forms, hoping to gain the perfect 

pearl of the formless.

    No more sailing from harbour to 

harbour with this my weather-beaten 

boat. The days are long passed when 

my sport was to be tossed on waves.

And now I am eager to die into 

the deathless.

Into the audience hall by the fathom 

less abyss where swells up the music of 

toneless strings I shall take this harp of 

my life.

I shall tune it to the notes of for ever, 

and, when it has sobbed out its last

utterance, lay down my silent harp at 

the feet of the silent.