From your throne you came down with a flower
a prize, and stood at my cottage door, the cornerI was singing all alone when your ear
picked my melody, my music!
Masters are many in your hall and songs
are sung there at all hours, but a simple carol
a little lament song of this novice mingled
with the great music of the world is your pick!
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 49
Henry Victor 31.12.2012
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