Your speech is simple, my Master, but not theirs who talk of you.
I understand the voice of your stars and the silence of your trees.
I know that my heart would open like a flower;
that my life has filled itself at a hidden fountain.
Your songs, like birds from the lonely land of snow,
are winging to build their nests in my heart against the warmth of its April,
and I am content to wait for the merry season.
Rabindranath Tagore
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