Arthur Symons does self-talk in this poem named Indian Meditation and the title is apt and suggestive of what he means to express. It is a sort of reflection and rumination which the poet does as an extension of thought and idea and the poem is spiritual no doubt.

Where will this self at last find happiness? The poet asks the soul to get the response from, but who to answer it? Only in nothingness, is the bare truth? Does the earth not suffice for its own needs? What are we? We are but weeds.

The tree will remain, only the leaves will flutter and fall. To be at peace with the self is all that we need. The list of things perpetuates as long as one is in this world. The self can be realized as long as the body is. When the Self as the vital force (prana) departs, the body ceases to be. This self which cries for eternity is what will pass through him.

Indian Meditation as a poem is a reflection upon the self and the poet carries the discussion too far in an interesting way as the truth can never be put aside. It has rightly been said, ‘Jab tak saansa hai tab tak aas hai’, which means in English ‘As long as there is breath so long is hope’.

Where shall this self at last find happiness?
O Soul, only in nothingness.
Does not the Earth suffice to its own needs?
And what am I but one of the Earth's weeds?
All things have been and all things shall go on
Before me and when I am gone;
This self that cries out for eternity
Is what shall pass in me:
The tree remains, the leaf falls from the tree.
I would be as the leaf, I would be lost
In the identity and death of frost.
Rather than draw the sap of the tree's strength
And for the tree's sake be cast off at length.
To be is homage unto being: cease
To be, and be at peace,
If it be peace for self to have forgot
Even that it is not.

Where shall this self at last find happiness?
O Soul, only in nothingness.
Does not the Earth suffice to its own needs?
And what am I but one of the Earth's weeds?
All things have been and all things shall go on
Before me and when I am gone;
This self that cries out for eternity
Is what shall pass in me:
The tree remains, the leaf falls from the tree.
I would be as the leaf, I would be lost
In the identity and death of frost.
Rather than draw the sap of the tree's strength
And for the tree's sake be cast off at length.
To be is homage unto being: cease
To be, and be at peace,
If it be peace for self to have forgot
Even that it is not.