The landscape of the mind is filled With noxious weeds and overgrown For on its soil the seeds are spilled Of tired thoughts we believe we own.
How then to clear these cluttered fields, Prepare a fertile ground and wait Till in its time the spirit yields The mystic seeds to germinate
And we are freed from foreign strains That once grew uninhibited, Free to keep the ripened grains By the flowering of spirit fed.
Poems Undated (1727)
Home
Disciples
Narad
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.