gitanjali

THE night darkened. Our day's works
had been done. We thought that the
last guest had arrived for the night
and the doors in the village were all
shut. Only some said, The king was to
come. We laughed and said "No, it
cannot be !"

It seemed there were knocks at
the door and we said it was nothing
but the wind. We put out the lamps
and lay down to sleep. Only some said,
It is the messenger !" We laughed
and said "No, it must be the wind!"

There came a sound in the dead of
the night. We sleepily thought it was
the distant thunder. The earth shook,
the walls rocked, and it troubled us in
our sleep. Only some said, it was the
sound of wheels. We said in a drowsy
murmur, "No, it must be the rumbling
of clouds !"

The night was still dark when the
drum sounded. The voice came "Wake
up! delay not!" We pressed our hands
on our hearts and shuddered with
fear. Some said, "Lo, there is the
king’s flag !" We stood up on our feet
and cried" There is no time for delay !"

The king has come- but where
lights, where are wreaths ? Where
is the throne to seat him ? Oh,
shame, Oh utter shame ! Where is the
hall. the decorations? Some one has
said. 'Vain is this cry ! Greet him with
empty hands, lead him into thy rooms
all are!”

Open the doors, let the
conch-shells be sounded ! In the
depth of the night has come the king
of our dark, dreary house. The
thunder roars in the sky. The
darkness shudders with lightning.
Brings out thy tattered piece of mat
and spread it in the courtyard. With
the storm has come of a sudden our
king of the fearful night.