Page:One Hundred Poems Kabir (1915).djvu/58

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me, O Swan, your ancient tale.

From what land do you come, O Swan ? to what shore will you fly ?

Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek ?

Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me !

There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule: where the terror of Death is no more.

There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent "He is I" is borne on the wind:

There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed, and desires no other joy.