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At the close of the poem the poet does not release us from our inner struggle. The identity of the speaker, whether a masculine or feminine voice, remains undisclosed and the occasion of the poem, although highly dramatic, hovers between the real and the imagined. In addition to releasing the poem from the distinctive dyes of his own personality, the poet has released it from time and place. Our only recourse to understanding the poem fully is to probe beneath the surface of the words themselves and identify with one who waits to be seized by love. To do so is to experience the delight of what Coleridge described as "tracing the leading thought thro'out the whole," by means of which "you merge yourself in the author, you become He."[37] This "vital participation," emphasises Paul Valery, "is quite different from a simple understanding of the text. Understanding is, of course, necessary: it is very far from being enough." [38] Commenting on the Spiritual Canticles of St. John of the Cross, Valery continues:

The outward appearance of these poems is that of a very tender song, which first of all suggests some ordinary love and a kind of gentle, pastoral adventure lightly sketched by the poet in almost furtive and occasionally mysterious terms. But one must not stop at this initial lucidity: one must, through the gloss, come closer to the text and invest its charm with a depth of supernatural passion and a mystery infinitely more precious than any secret of love dwelling in a human heart.[39]

The applicability of Valery's observations to the lyrics of Sri Chinmoy may be substantiated by one further example in which the poet compels us to follow the poem's inner movement:

Whose footsteps do I hear at a distance all day and night?
For whom is my life?
For whom is my life all eagerness?
Ah, I hear now the sound is approaching me.
My beloved Lord seems to be right beside me. [40]