Again I am alone,
Again I sit and wait.
Where is the heavenly muse?
Where is my Lotus Lord tonight?
Are my senses dead
That I do not see the Lord of Light?
That I do not clasp His arm and rest on His sweet-scented breast?
My ears are worse than deaf
That at the sound of “Krishna”
I do not sink away and die.
Govinda, Krishna—awaken me, I plead.
Cut off these ears,
Pluck out these eyes,
That I might hear and see indeed.
Take all I have, my brief life,
And then I shall live in Thee.