O wild, sweet tune, of which my soul is fain, 
Through the loud sound of sea and tempest heard. 
Like the low moan of a wind-driven bird, — 
O sad, sweet tune! O passionate, wild strain! 
Full of past joy, dead hope, and present pain, — 
Once more I catch thee, and my heart is stirr'd. 
Stung sharply by that one great, simple word, 
Gone as a dream that shall not come again. 

Once more I see my lady's warm, flushed face; 
See her deep amorous eyes, and swept back hair; 
Yea, hear the tender sobbing of her breath. 
O tune, made sad with all sweet things that were! 
O tune, keep back, or quite restore those days. 
That, past, crown life, or break our wills for death! 

I was here from the moment of the beginning, and here I am still.
And I shall remain here until the end of the world,
For there is no ending to my grief-stricken being.

I roamed the infinite sky, and soared in the ideal world, and floated through the firmament.
But here I am, prisoner of measurement.

I heard the teachings of Confucius;
I listened to Brahma’s wisdom;
I sat by Buddha under the Tree of Knowledge.
Yet here I am, existing with ignorance and heresy.

I was on Sinai when Jehovah approached Moses;
I saw the Nazarene’s miracles at the Jordan;
I was in Medina when Mohammed visited.
Yet here I am, prisoner of bewilderment.

Then I witnessed the might of Babylon;
I learned of the glory of Egypt;
I viewed the warring greatness of Rome.
Yet my earlier teachings showed the weakness and sorrow of those achievements.

I conversed with the magicians of Ain Dour;
I debated with the priests of Assyria;
I gleaned depth from the prophets of Palestine.
Yet, I am still seeking truth.

I gathered wisdom from quiet India;
I probed the antiquity of Arabia;
I heard all that can be heard.
Yet, my heart is deaf and blind.

I suffered at the hands of despotic rulers;
I suffered slavery under insane invaders;
I suffered hunger imposed by tyranny;
Yet, I still possess some inner power with which I struggle to greet each day.

My mind is filled, but my heart is empty;
My body is old, but my heart is an infant.
Perhaps in youth my heart will grow,
But I pray to grow old and reach the moment of my return to God.
Only then will my heart fill!

I was here from the moment of the beginning, and here I am still.
And I shall remain here until the end of the world,
For there is no ending to my grief-stricken being.