He it is, the innermost one, who
awakens my being with his deep hidden
touches.
He it is who puts his enchantment
upon these eyes and joyfully plays on
the chords of my heart in varied ca-
dence of pleasure and pain.
He it is who weaves the web of this
maya in evanescent hues of gold and
silver, blue and green, and lets peep out
through the folds his feet, at whose
touch I forget myself.
Days come and ages pass, and it is
ever he who moves my heart in many a
name, in many a guise, in many a
rapture of joy and sorrow.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Company, 1916) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.