gitanjali

THE song that I came to sing remains
unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in stringing
and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true. the
words have not been rightly set; only
there is the agony of wishing in my
heart.

The blossom has not opened; only
the wind is sighing by.

I have not seen his face, nor have I
listened to his voice; only I have
heard his gentle footsteps from the
road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in
spreading his seat on the floor; but
the lamp has not been lit and I cannot
ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with
him; but this meeting is not yet.