"My songs are like bees; they follow through the air some fragrant
trace-some memory-of you,
to hum around your shyness
eager for its hidden store.
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun,
when in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent
my song return home
their languid wings dusted with gold."
(Rabindranath Tagore)
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