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 And pluck the new buds that are blowing." But my heart was so full of your music, Beloved, They mocked when I cried without knowing:
 * Govinda! Govinda!
 * Govinda! Govinda! . ..

How gaily the river was flowing!

I carried my gifts to the Mathura shrine. . . . How brightly the torches were glowing! . . . I folded my hands at the altars to pray "O shining Ones guard us by night and by day"— And loudly the conch shells were blowing. But my heart was so lost in your worship, Beloved, They were wroth when I cried without knowing:
 * Govinda! Govinda!
 * Govinda! Govinda! . ..

How brightly the river was flowing!

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