| Gitanjali |
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GITANJALI |
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XXVI He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep it was, O miserable me! He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands, and my dreams became resonant with its melodies. Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep? |
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| About Gitanjali | ||||||||||||||||||||
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