It is he, the innermost one, who wakens up my consciousness with his deep hidden touches. It is he who reads magic incantations upon my eyes, and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. It is he who weaves the web of this maya in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and through its folds lets peep his feet at whose touch I forget my self. Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of bliss and sorrow.
পাতা:Original manuscript of Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore - Rothenstein collection.pdf/৭৯
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