“I feel glad luminous peace,”
Replied Priyankā, “entering the rhythm
Of our flight, some fragrant worship as if
Made the wind blow through the garden of dreams
Where the flowers are sweet in earnestness
Of smile. Here is a spontaneous land
Full of warm love in which run chanting streams
In great many directions; here absorbed
In silence is heard universal speech,
Even as through the tireless pinions
Hurrying hues of prophetic gleams brighter
Than those of the earlier suns hasten
In abundant light, proclaiming new birth.”
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