THE WIND is up, I set, my sail of songs,
Steersman, sit at 'the helm.
For my boat is fretting to be free, to dance in the rhythm of the wind and water.
The day is spent, it is evening.
My friends of the shore have taken leave.
Loose the chain and heave the anchor, we sail by the starlight.
The wind is stirred into the murmur of music at this time of my departure.
Steersman, sit at the helm.

I.35. sati ko kaun sikhawta hai
WHO HAS EVER taught the widowed wife to burn herself on the pyre of her dead husband?
And who has ever taught love to find bliss in renunciation?

THE TIME is past when I could repay her for all that I received.
Her night has found its morning and thou hast taken her to thy arms: and to thee I bring my gratitude and my gifts that were for her.
For all hurts and offences to her I come to thee for forgiveness.
I offer to thy service those flowers of my love that remained in bud when she waited for them to open.