On the dark canvas of the overcast sky,
The Great Master with a brush of green
Has painted tall trees and hills so high
Oh! Can words describe this wonderful scene!
Hush! He is still around at his work here
Adding and cutting lines of flashing white
The roar of His brush-strokes can’t you hear
Though He himself is ever out of sight?
Look! The playful breeze too is still today,
And not a chirping bird ventures to stir,
The Sun who rose early to give the day
Has also shied away before the Master.
Drink, Drink, O’ my stupid wavering mind!
Of this brimming cup as much as you can,
For, I am sure, you too will at last find
The Artist and His work are forever one.