Poem 12

#listen-container { display: inline-block; padding: 9px 15px; background: #10578E; cursor: pointer; transition: all 0.3s ease; border: 1px solid #1791ef; border-bottom: 1px solid #156caf; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; } #listen-container:hover { background: #2f9cf1; } #listen-container a { color: #fff; } .listen-container-svg { fill: #fff; height: 20px; width: 22px; margin-right: 5px; } #text-player { margin-right: 0; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; top: -3px; position: relative; float: none; font-family: "Roboto","sans-serif"; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; } Listen to this Poem Your browser does not support the audio element. THE middle region of the sky, wherein the spirit dwelleth, is radiant with the music of light; There, where the pure and white music blossoms, my Lord takes His delight. In the wondrous effulgence of each hair of His body, the brightness of millions of suns and of moons is lost. On that shore there is a city, where the rain of nectar pours and pours, and never ceases. Kabîr says: "Come, O Dharmadas! and see my great Lord's Durbar."