Listen, my heart, to the whispers of the world with
which it makes love to you.
The mystery of creation is like the darkness of night-it is great.
Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.
Do not seat you love upon a precipice because it is high.
I sit at my window this morning where the world
like a pawwer-by stops for a moment,
nods to me and goes.
by Rabindranath Tagore
Do you see anything on my face or insde my heart?
I quit. That's all.
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