এই পাতাটির মুদ্রণ সংশোধন করা হয়েছে, কিন্তু বৈধকরণ করা হয়নি।
Languor is in thy heart and the slumber is still on thine eyes. Has not the word passed to thee that the flower is reigning in splendour among thorns? Wake, oh wake up! Let not the time pass in vain!
At the end of the story path, in the country of origin solitude my friend is sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake, oh wake up!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the middle sun, – what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst! Is there no joy in the deeps of thy heart? At every footfall of thine, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain?
