Classic Poem

My life I offer, O Ravisher of hearts.
With endless labour I expounded, but the fool does not believe.
By look and word I urge with vehemence: how wilt thou win across the stream?
By this mind are gods, men, munis wearied: what hope then for a helpless man?
I crossed by calling on my Lover: this, O Gulal, says humble Bhikha.