Gitanjali 100

I dive down into the depth of the ocean
of forms, hoping to gain the perfect 
pearl of the formless.
    No more sailing from harbour to 
harbour with this my weather-beaten 
boat. The days are long passed when 
my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into 
the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathom 
less abyss where swells up the music of 
toneless strings I shall take this harp of 
my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of for ever, 
and, when it has sobbed out its last
utterance, lay down my silent harp at 
the feet of the silent.