Gitanjali - Lover:
- Where do you stand behind them all, my lover, hiding yourself in the shadows?
They push you and pass you by on the dusty road, taking you for naught.
I wait here weary hours spreading my offerings for you, while passers-by come and take my flowers, one by one, and my basket is nearly empty.
The morning time is past, and the noon.
In the shade of evening my eyes are drowsy with sleep.
Men going home glance at me and smile and fill me with shame.
I sit like a beggar maid, drawing my skirt over my face, and when they ask me, what it is I want, I drop my eyes and answer them not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for you I wait, and that you have promised to come.
How could I utter for shame that I keep for my dowry this poverty.
Ah, I hug this pride in the secret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and dream of the sudden splendour of your coming - all the lights ablaze, golden pennons flying over your car, and they at the roadside standing agape, when they see you come down from your seat to raise me from the dust, and set at your side this ragged beggar girl a-tremble with shame and pride, like a creeper in a summer breeze.
But time glides on and still no sound of the wheels of your chariot.
Many a procession passes by with noise and shouts and glamour of glory.
Is it only you who would stand in the shadow silent and behind them all?
And only I who would wait and weep and wear out my heart in vain longing?