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Updated: May 7, 2025
The delicious notes a sweet, artless, voluntary, simple anthem, as from the flute-stops of some organ, wafted through the twilight echoing well to us from the perpendicular high rock, where, in some thick young trees' recesses at the base, sat the bird fill'd our senses, our souls.
After that there is the larger world-path, the endless current of universal life. How little can you deprive me of, my love, after all? Whenever I set my ear to it, I can hear the flute which is playing, its fountain of melody gushing forth from the flute-stops of separation. The immortal draught of the goddess is never exhausted.
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