gitanjali

I ASKED nothing -from thee; I uttered
not my name to throe ear. When thou
took’st thy leave I stood silent. I was
alone by the well where the shadow of
the tree fell aslant, and the women
had gone home with their brown
earthen pitchers full to the brim.
They called me and shouted, "Come
with us, the morning is wearing on to
noon," But I languidly lingered awhile
lost in the midst of vague musings.

I heard not thy steps as thou
camest. Throe eyes were sad when
they fell on me; thy voice was tired as
thou spokest low- "Ah, I am a thirsty
traveller." I started up from my
daydreams and poured water from my
jar on thy joined palms. The leaves
rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang
from the unseen dark, and perfume of
babla flowers came from the bend of
the road.

I stood speechless with shame
when my name thou didst ask.
Indeed, what had I done for thee to
keep me in remembrance ? But the
memory that I could give water to
thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my
heart and enfold it in sweetness. The
morning hour is late, the bird sings in
weary notes, neem leaves rustle
overhead and I sit and think and
think.