These poems descend without the aid of thought As if the Gods were pouring them into me Falling rapidly only to be caught In moments when the soul is calm and free:
They often appear full-rhymed or in blank verse Oft in iambic pentameter they come When I am shot with pain and grief or worse, In quatrains of the sonnet's sacred home.
How often have they come when all seemed lost A nd death my hidden friend drew very near His coming not to bless me or accost My soul or hope to instill in me great fear.
When done is my earthly work for which I came He will hear my OM as I chant the Mother's name
Poems Undated (1727)
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Narad
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