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
Into the audience hall by the fathom
less abyss where swells up the music of
toneless strings I shall take this harp of
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.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1913) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.