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.

From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1913) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.