I will steal the milk of honeysuckles

Like Krishna of yore,

I will suckle the perfume

From the breast of the rose,

Roll over the velvet green

Or run after golden wings of gossamer.

I want no companions

But quietly wish to roam

With my nursing breeze.

Where the sheoli flowers

Dressed with pearly dew and showers

Rest on the throne of green gold lawns

For a while I will stand

My homage to pay to their scented majesties.

With the wings of the birds

My spirit joyfully flies

Over unknown fancies ...everywhere.

Thru the voice of birds

I will sing in silence.

I will spread with the vast blue;

With threads of sunbeams

I will sew my tattered joy.

With the moonbeams I will wash my sorrows,

With the night

I will obliterate my dark experiences,

With the dawn

I will create my new world of eternal joy.