The night is cool; the oppressive glare of day

Has left no trace on earth; a landward breeze

Freshening and blowing through the spring-decked trees

Echoes the ceaseless roar of a troubled bay.

The young Moon with the monsoon clouds at play

Sends forth a dreamy gaze; a distant flute

Is marred by the barking of a haunted brute;

Forces of darkness hold the world in sway.

A thousand thought-forms racing through the mind,

Feelings of hope and fear, of joy and woe

That rise and fall like waves tossed by the wind–

Where are they shaped? Towards what goal their flow?

Nothing affects the Soul's eternal sky

That watches in silence all this passing by.