In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou
walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.

Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent
calls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over
the ever-wakeful blue sky.

The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at
every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted
street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open
in my house–do not pass by like a dream.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my
friend? The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look
out on the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the
frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou
threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

From: GITANJALI – “Song Offerings”

By: RABINDRANATH TAGORE