But thou and I go thitherward no more.
Close, ah, too close, the bitter knowledge clings,
We may not follow where my fancies yearn.
The years go hence, and wild and lovely things,
_Their own_, go with them, never to return.
Khristna and His Flute
(Translation by Moolchand)
Be still, my heart, and listen,
For sweet and yet acute
I hear the wistful music