Ah, Thou art now married to new custom
Of heaven, Thy splendoured home bright,
Old courtesies of earth are now too dim
To venture Thy halls before Thy sight.

Thy portal doors guarded by armed might,
Heaven sentinels with severe light-brows,
Shaming my heart and feet to hesitate 
From venturing in periphery of Thy gaze.

O Emperor, O sun-crowned Supreme,
My peasant heart brings laboured produce,
A fistful of ardour, a lone stuttering dream
And fine balm extracted from salted tears.

In Thy lordship never a mar must stray,
Hence by Thy doorstep I shall be forever,
In wordless silence from here I shall pray
Lest Thy repose be tainted by my quiver.

Visit me in Thy sojourns if Thou canst,
For how long can Thy heaven deny my dust.